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THE  LIBRARY 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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©  Lucy  Fitch  Perkins,  and  used  by  permission 

STRENGTHEN  THE  LITTLE  HANDS  THAT  MUST  CAKRY  ON  THE  WORLD 


THE  NORMAL  CHILD  AND 
PRIMARY  EDUCATION, 


BY 


ARNOLD  L.  GESELL,  PH.D.  (CLARK) 

U' 
DEPARTMENT  OF   PSYCHOLOGV,  LOS  ANGELES  STATE  NORMAL 

NOW  ASSISTANT   PROFESSOR  OF  EDUCATION,  YALE    UNIVERSITY- 


BEATRICE  CHANDLER  GESELL,  ED.B.  (CHICAGO) 

FORMERLY   PRIMARY  TRAINING  TEACHER 
LOS  ANGELES  STATE   NORMAL 


GINN  AND  COMPANY 

BOSTON     •     NEW    YORK     •     CHICAGO     •     LONDON 
ATLANTA     •     DALLAS     •     COLUMBCS     •     SAN    FRANCISCO 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY  ARNOLD   L.  GESELL  AND 

BEATRICE   CHANDLER   GESELL 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

916.10 


gtftenaum 


GINN  AND  COMPANY  •  PRO- 
PRIETORS •  BOSTON  •  U.S.A. 


Library 


1501 

PREFACE 

^-S 
This  book  is  the  result  chiefly  of  the  authors'  contact 

with  the  eager  minds  of  young  women  who  were  preparing 
to  teach  young  children.  These  prospective  teachers  wished 
to  have  definite,  workable  suggestions  in  the  arts  of  primary 
pedagogy.  The  future  daily  attack  of  the  school  program 
with  its  formidable  list  of  reading,  writing,  handwork,  dra- 
matics, etc.,  was  to  them  a  serious  problem.  We  have  tried 
to  offer  in  the  core  of  this  book  many  straightforward, 
practical  directions  for  the  normal-school  student  and  the 
teacher,  but  without  the  attitude  of  finality  which  puts  an 
end  to  all  self-help.  We  believe  that  one  reason  why  there 
is  not  more  spirit  and  originality  in  the  lower  elementary 
grades  is  that  the  teachers  themselves  too  early  suffer  a 
subtle  arrest  in  heart  and  mind  elasticity. 

The  pedagogical  chapters  of  Part  Three  aim  to  present 
constructive  suggestions  based  in  large  measure  on  experi- 
ence and  experimentation,  which  included  the  mistakes  and 
efforts  of  a  host  of  earnest  young  teachers  who  had  not 
yet  been  habituated  to  inflexible  programs  and  methods. 
To  these  teachers  we  owe  and  feel  a  real  debt  of  gratitude. 
Our  indebtedness  to  The  University  of  Chicago  and  to 
Clark  University  will  be  self-evident. 

Part  One  is  a  brief  historical  introduction  which  sketches 
a  summary  of  the  history  of  science  with  reference  to  the 
problem  of  child  life,  and  prepares  the  reader  for  the  scien- 
tific chapters  of  Part  Two.  The  latter  represent  a  variety 
of  material  from  the  fields  of  biology  and  child  psychology, 

v 

1S717G3 


vi  PKEFACE 

selected  and  summarized  to  serve  as  a  foundation  and 
background  for  the  pedagogical  section.  The  chapters 
deal  with  large  themes,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  expo- 
sition as  with  the  hope  that  the  schoolroom  program  and 
practice  will  be  somewhat  illuminated  and  dignified.  The 
fundamental  subjects  of  perception  and  instinct  are  fully 
treated,  and  the  aim  throughout  is  to  develop  the  genetic 
point  of  view  toward  the  child  and  education. 

Part  Four  considers  the  child  as  a  whole,  with  special 
reference  to  the  larger  aspects  of  physical  and  mental  health 
or  normality.  Special  attention  is  given  to  the  normal  men- 
tal hygiene  of  the  child's  personal  power  and  growth. 

What  is  a  normal  child?  The  prevailing  standards  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  adopted  in  answer  to  this  question 
are  sadly  slipshod,  —  even  in  the  pedagogical  world  where 
high  child  standards  ought  to  be  religiously  maintained. 
It  is  carelessly  assumed  that  the  normal  child  is  the  aver- 
age child. 

Teachers  of  defective  children  often  confess  that  by  a 
gradual  process  of  instinctive  toleration  or  adaptation  they 
come  to  believe  that  even  their  inferior  pupils  are  "  all 
right,"  or  at  least '"  pretty  good."  Such  teachers  resort  to 
companionship  with  tf  normal "  children  in  order  to  revive 
their  fading  standards  of  what  is  normal.  The  great  mass 
of  elementary  school-teachers  lapse  into  a  similar  under- 
valuation of  what  is  truly  normal ;  but  they  have  no  con- 
venient place  of  reference  where  they  can  rectify  their 
slumping  standards. 

We  must  go  to  science,  to  literature,  to  art,  to  revitalize 

our  ideals  of  childhood.    We  ought  to  see  more  children  in 

half-naked  garb,  as  the  Greeks  did,  —  bare  arms,  legs,  chests, 

—  to  give  us  a  feeling  for  the  beauty  and  nobility  of  the 

human  form.   We  are  becoming  too  satisfied  with  the  collars 


PREFACE  vii 

and  ribbons  of  our  primary  pupils,  and  not  keeping  alive 
our  natural  disapproval  of  the  frail,  unshapely  bodies  which 
clothes  conceal.  Likewise  we  are  losing  a  sense  of  what  is 
mentally  normal. 

The  sciences  of  education  have  not,  however,  worked 
out  a  detailed  psychophysical  portrait  of  the  normal  child, 
and  at  present  we  have  more  adequate  pictures  of  types 
of  subnormality  than  we  have  of  normality.  A  particular 
interest  in  the  pronounced  and  pathological  deviations  from 
the  medium  has  been  to  the  detriment  of  the  great  medium 
mass  of  children,  who,  after  all,  are  the  most  important,  for 
the  democratic  reason  that  God  made  so  many  of  them. 
There  are  over  seventeen  millions  of  pupils,  the  majority 
under  ten  years  of  age,  enrolled  in  the  public  schools  of 
our  country.  A  small  fraction  are  in  special  classes  for  the 
backward  and  defective.  The  rest  are  all  "  normal." 

By  reason  of  the  vast  amount  and  by  reason  of  the  pecul- 
iar potentiality  of  all  this  child  life  in  the  early  grades,  the 
primary  teachers,  who  far  out-number  any  other  class  of 
teachers,  have  a  big  part  to  play  in  the  expanding  move- 
ment for  the  conservation  of  national  vitality.  By  bring- 
ing new  health,  gladness,  and  creativeness  into  the  pri- 
mary school,  a  large  and  precious  measure  of  perishable 
elements  in  human  material  can  be  saved  to  the  race. 
Part  Four  treats  some  possibilities  in  a  new-old  field  of 
conservation. 

The  work  in  this  fine  field  can  be  furthered,  we  believe, 
if  those  who  have  to  do  with  children  will  develop  and 
heroically  maintain  high  standards  of  normal  childhood  in 
its  various  ages.  This  book  may  in  some  places  do  some- 
thing to  make  more  definite  and  elevated  such  standards 
of  what  is  normal.  We  have  not  written  for  the  techni- 
cal clinician,  but  for  the  elementary  school-teacher,  and, 


viii  PREFACE 

of  course,  for  other  traditional  guardians  of  children,  as 
mothers,  aunts,  some  fathers,  supervisors,  and  child-study 
and  reading  circles. 

It  is  preferable. that  the  normal  should  approximate  the 
ideal  rather  than  the  average.  The  higher  and  stronger  the 
norm  of  normality  the  better  for  the  race.  The  Greeks  used 
the  word  "  idea  "  to  mean  the  model  which  existing  objects 
imperfectly  embody.  Millions  of  the  primary  children  in  our 
"  regular  "  grades  imperfectly  embody  what  is  ideal,  what 
is  normal.  We  have  not  ventured  far  into  the  dangerous 
and  uncertain  problem  of  primary  prodigies  and  precocity. 
According  to  certain  new  ideas  of  child  culture,  ordinary 
children  by  proper  nursery  pedagogy  may  be  brought  at 
primary  age  to  high-school  levels  of  intellectual  advance- 
ment. Although  there  is  nothing  finally  established  as  to 
the  ultimate  healthy  limits  of  achievement  in  the  primary 
child,  we  do  believe  that  he  is  at  present  far  below  his  pos- 
sibilities, and  think  it  regrettable  that  the  primary  schools 
continue  to  turn  out  such  hordes  of  pupils  subnormal  in 
personal  power.  The  primary  child  has  many  untouched 
reservoirs  of  interest  and  capacity.  He  is  ripe  for  unguessed 
avenues  of  activity  and  attainment.  Though  we  need  not 
suddenly  strive  to  make  of  him  a  prodigy,  we  can  hold  him 
more  completely  to  what  is  soundly  normal. 

BEATRICE  C.  GESELL 
ARNOLD  L.  GESELL 
CASA  VERDUGO,  CALIFORNIA 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE.    HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

J.    HUMANITARIANISM    AND    THE    CHILD 3 

II.  THE  SCIENTIFIC  INTERPRETATION  OK  LIFE     ...  8 

III.  THE  SCIENTIFIC  STUDY  OF  THE  CHILD 17 

PART  TWO.  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

IV.  THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE 29 

V.  THE  PRIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD      ...  46 

VI.  INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION 61 

VII.  THE  HAND  OF  THE  RACE  AND  OF  THE  CHILD  .     .  84 

VIII.    TOUCH    AND    THE    APPRECIATION    OF    THINGS     .       .       .  106 

PART  THREE.    THE   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

IX.  DRAWING 125 

X.  DRAMATIC  EXPRESSION 144 

XI.  PHONICS,  AND  SPEECH 159 

XII.  LANGUAGE 172 

XIII.  HANDWORK  .     .     . 181 

XIV.  LITERATURE 187 

XV.  READING 194 

XVI.  HANDWRITING 203 

XVII.  NATURE  STUDY 223 

XVIII.  BUSY-WORK 229 

XIX.  OUTDOOR  PLAY 237 

XX.  MORNING  EXERCISES 243 

XXI.  DISCIPLINE 248 

ix 


x  CONTENTS 

PART  FOUR.   THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION 257 

XXIIL  A  HEALTHY  BODY 273 

XXIV.  A  HEALTHY  MIND 289 

XXV.  THE  SAVING  SENSE  OF  HUMOR 296 

XXVI.  FORMALISM  AND  CHILD  PERSONALITY 305 

XXVII.  CHILDHOOD  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  YOUTH  ....  310 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 315 

APPENDIX.  THE  MONTESSORI  KINDERGARTEN      ....  323 

INDEX  .  341 


THE  NORMAL  CHILD 
AND  PRIMARY  EDUCATION 


PAET  ONE 

HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER  I 

HUMANITARIANISM  AND  THE  CHILD 

The  child  has  been  called  the  .last  serf  of  civilization. 
Two  sister  influences  have  come  to  his  emancipation,  hu- 
manitarianism  and  science.  A  humanitarian  attitude  toward 
children  would  seem  to  be  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world.  Even  among  the  lower  animals  we  find  the  instinct 
of  parental  sympathy,  the  root  of  all  tenderness.  But  his- 
tory shows  in  many  pages  how  both  instinct  and  reason 
have  failed  to  develop  an  adequate  regard  for  the  child. 

It  was  written  in  the  sacred  books  of  the  Hebrews  that 
the  disobedient  son  should  be  stoned  by  the  tribe  with 
stones  till  he  die.  This  severity  belongs  to  the  Old  Testa- 
ment regime.  Some  of  the  loftiest  conceptions  of  childhood 
were  to  appear  in  the  New  Testament.  Strangely  enough, 
however,  some  of  the  most  terrible  misconceptions  concern- 
ing childhood  developed  with  the  Christian  Church.  From 
St.  Augustine  to  Jonathan  Edwards,  the  doctrine  of  child 
depravity  was  proclaimed  and  practiced.  It  was  enunciated 
and  reenunciated  by  the  early  fathers,  the  Lutherans,  the 
Council  of  the  Reformation,  the  Calvinists,  and  the  Puri- 
tans. For  over  a  millennium  this  gloomy  declaration,  now  so 
abhorrent  to  our  humanity,  was  a  mere  truism.  It  must  be 

3 


4  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

interpreted  with  due  tolerance  by  the  present  generation, 
but  it  cannot  be  brushed  aside  as  a  mere  theological  theory. 
Theory  colors  practice,  and  this  idea  that  children,  "  by  their 
carnal  conception  and  nativity,  came  into  this  world  steeped 
in  sin  and  guilt,  the  heirs  of  hell,"  inevitably  introduced 
many  forms  of  insidious  cruelty  into  home  and  school.  The 
puritanical  spirit  of  abnormal  sternness  and  repression,  which 
interpreted  simple  childish  mischievousness  as  the  work  of 
Satan,  was  directly  descended  from  this  honest  belief  in  the 
utter  depravity  of  human  nature. 

The  best  measure  of  the  civilization  of  any  people  is  the 
degree  of  thoughtful  reverence  paid  to  the  child.  The  close 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  brought  forth  ideas  of  lib- 
erty and  emancipation  on  such  a  grand  scale,  is  therefore 
well  called  the  age  of  enlightenment.  The  roll  call  of  that 
great  epoch  of  Aufklarung  included  the  names  of  Schiller, 
Goethe,  Kant,  Payne,  Washington,  Wilberforce,  Jefferson, 
Fichte,  Grimm,  Wordsworth,  Kosciusko,  Bach,  Voltaire, 
Herder,  Schleiermacher,  Rousseau,  —  a  great  medley,  but 
proof  that  powerful  liberalizing  and  humanizing  forces  were 
penetrating  all  departments  of  life.  Elementary  education 
in  the  fullness  of  time  was  to  be  transformed  by  this  Aufkla- 
rung. The  eternal  worth  of  individuality  was  rising  to  a 
new  recognition.  "  In  a  certain  sense,"  says  Nato^P  "  all 
threads  run  together  in  the  one  idea  of  education  foJt -n  inan- 
ity. At  last  man  was  anxious  to  understand  the  hm«an  in 
humanity,  in  order  to  develop  the  human  in  humanity." 

One  great  name  which  must  be  added  to  the  above  roll 
call  is  that  of  Johann  Heinrich  Pestalozzi.  This  picturesque 
but  powerful  man  was  moved  by  the  new  enthusiasm  for 
humanity.  He  believed  that  children,  above  all  else,  should 
be  understood  and  loved ;  that  in  them  lay  the  regeneration 
of  the  world.  So  he  converted  his  home  into  a  combined 


primary  school  and  social  settlement,  and  set  the  world  a 
novel  example  of  kindness  for  which  it  was  becoming  more 
and  more  ready. 

In  Pestalozzi's  old  age  there  came  into  existence  a  form 
of  harshness  to  children  which  in  many  respects  dwarfed 
that  of  any  previous  age,  —  the  child  labor  of  the  Indus- 
trial Revolution.  In  England,  the  mighty  land  of  looms,  the 
trafficking  in  and  enslavement  of  children  became  a  veri- 
table system,  and  the  suffering  and  degeneration  which  fell 
upon  thousands  of  defenseless  creatures,  toiling  for  four- 
teen and  sixteen  hours  a  day  at  the  remorseless  machines, 
are  unspeakable.  Southey  exclaimed,  "  Death  in  the  brazen 
arms  of  a  Carthaginian  idol  was  mercy  to  the  slow  waste 
of  life  in  the  factories." 

The  liberation  of  children  from  industrial  oppression  is  not 
yet  complete.  The  resistance  of  the  English  mill  owners, 
and  even  of  parents  and  Parliament,  — including  such  states- 
men as  Brougham,  Bright,  Cobden,  Russell,  and  Gladstone, 
—  to  the  amelioration  of  these  child  laborers  is  a  matter  of 
history.  The  noble  work  of  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  in  the 
face  of  this  resistance  is  also  history.  He  compelled  the 
nation  not  to  work  its  children  more  than  twelve  hours  a 
day ;  he  rescued  the  little  chimney  sweep  from  the  danger 
of  fire  and  death ;  he  covered  all  London  with  ragged 
schools,  and  asylums  for  the  homeless,  and  released  a  whole 
army  of  working  boys  and  girls  from  factory,  forge,  and 
mine.  Even  thus,  before  dying,  in  1885,  he  lamented:  "I 
cannot  bear  to  leave  the  world  with  all  the  misery  in  it." 

England  produced  another  great  humanitarian  in  the  per- 
son of  Charles  Dickens.  His  influence  in  creating  a  greater 
tenderness  and  respect  for  childhood  in  his  own  country,  on 
the  Continent,  and  in  America,  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 
He  was  a  contemporary  of  Lord  Shaftesbury.  These  were 


6 


HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 


the  days  when  a  man  could  mercilessly  beat  his  wife,  his 
beast,  and  his  child,  without  a  challenge ;  when  -orphans, 
idiots,  and  strays  were  herded  into  bleak  workhouses,  and 
when  schools  were  "  nurseries  of  vice,"  commonly  presided 
over  by  "  incapable  pettifoggers  or  sordid,  brutal  men  to 


- 


FIG.  1.    SQUEEES 
(From  an  old  print) 

whom  few  considerate  persons  would  have  intrusted  a 
dog."  Oliver  Twist,  Dotheboys  Hall,  Squeers,  Nicholas 
Nickleby,  Child  Queller,  and  Choakumchild  are  names  that 
bring  a  flood  of  associations  true  to  actual  conditions.  "  The 
pale  and  haggard  faces,  lank  and  bony  figures,  children 
with  the  countenances  of  old  men,"  that  stalk  through 


HUMANITARIANISM  AND  THE  CHILD  7 

Dickens's  stories,  were  not  merely  the  product  of  artistic 
imagination ;  nor  were  the  schools  "  where  every  kindly 
sympathy  and  affection  was  blasted  in  its  birth  and  every 
young  and  healthy  feeling  flogged  and  starved  down."  The 
real  truth  is  that  the  doctrine  of  child  depravity  still  lin- 
gered as  a  dominant  Christian  ideal.  Repression  and  cor- 
poral punishment  were  the  rules.  The  greater  mildness  in 
methods  of  training  and  the  very  existence  of  many  child- 
welfare  organizations  to-day  are  traceable  to  that  eloquent 
champion  of  children's  rights,  —  Charles  Dickens. 

At  the  centennial  year  of  Dickens's  birth  it  is  interesting 
to  recall  such  large  expressions  of  the  humanitarian  attitude 
toward  children  as  the  Child  Welfare  Exhibit,  held  first  at 
New  York  and  recently,  on  a  bigger  scale,  in  Chicago.  Hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  people  in  each  city  visited  this  unique 
exposition,  with  its  army  of  "  explainers  "  and  its  wealth  of 
photographs,  statistics,  headline  statements,  and  living  dem- 
onstrations setting  forth  the  conditions  of  city  child  life. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  significant  of  the  greater 
solicitude  for  children,  with  which  we  associate  the  name  of 
Dickens,  than  these  remarkable  and  inspiring  exhibits. 

Humanitarianism  is  becoming  part  of  the  spirit  of  the 
race.  One  has  but  to  glance  through  the  directory  of  the 
charities  of  a  large  city  to  be  convinced  of  this.  While 
societies  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to  children  are  still 
a  necessity,  deliberate  and  brutal  forms  of  cruelty  belong 
more  to  the  past  than  to  the  present;  but  the  unwitting 
cruelty  of  indifference  and  ignorance  was  perhaps  never 
so  extensive  as  right  now.  This,  Science  alone  can  dispel, 
by  the  enlightenment  of  the  masses  and  by  the  cultivation 
of  experts. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   SCIENTIFIC   INTERPRETATION  OF  LIFE 

The  fuller  appreciation  of  childhood  to-day  has  by  no 
means  been  due  to  the  growth  of  the  humanitarian  spirit 
alone.  The  other  great  factor  has  been  the  development  of 
modern  science.  The  present  splendid,  growing  body  of 
scientific  knowledge  about  life  represents  the  most  impor- 
tant achievement  of  the  race. 

With  the  end  of  the  classic  civilization,  science,  broadly 
speaking,  came  to  a  standstill  and  remained  so  for  centuries. 
This  is  particularly  true  of  the  sciences  concerned  with  the 
body  and  the  mind  of  man,  and  therefore  of  the  child. 
There  was  no  scientific  interpretation  of  life.  All  discus- 
sions on  this  vital  central  theme  were  carried  on  by  the 
fruitless  method  of  scholastic  philosophy,  and  were  never 
based  on  first-hand  inquiry.  Such  inquiry  into  facts  over 
which  God  had,  it  was  said,  purposely  placed  a  mantle  of 
mystery,  was  frowned  upon  as  being  unpious  and  prying 
curiosity.  The  medicine,  physiology,  and  psychology  of 
the  medieval  period,  therefore,  were  a  mixture  of  error  and 
fancy,  except  where  the  authorities  whom  the  scholars  were 
constantly  quoting  happened  to  be  right. 

Chief  among  these  authorities  were  Galen  and  Aristotle, 
exponents  of  a  former  scientific  culture.  Even  Aristotle,  the 
greatest  of  the  Greek  intellects,  was  not  always  a  safe  guide. 
He  thought  that  the  soul  pervaded  the  whole  body,  and  had 
no  idea  of  the  nature  and  use  of  the  nervous  system,  believ- 
ing that  the  brain  was  a  refrigerating  apparatus  to  cool  the 

8 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  INTERPRETATION  OF  LIFE     9 

passions  that  arose  in  the  heart.  Galen  thought  that  the 
blood,  by  an  oscillatory  motion,  reached  the  brain,  where  it 
was  elaborated  into  animal  spirits,  which  were  conveyed  by 
tubular  nerves  throughout  the  body  to  impart  motion,  etc. 
This  belief  in  humors,  spirits,  and  sympathies  persisted  as 
a  source  of  confusion  down  into  the  nineteenth  century. 
Burton,  in  his  quaint  work  "  The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy," 
calls  spirit  "  a  most  subtle  vapor  which  is  expressed  from 
the  blood,  and  the  instrument  of  the  soul  to  perform  all 
his  actions."  A  few  other  sample  views  follow :  The  optic 
nerve  is  a  tube  through  which  visual  spirits  pass,  carrying 
ideas  from  the  air  and  idola  from  objects  to  the  brain ;  the 
liver  is  the  seat  of  love,  and  the  spleen  of  wit ;  the  brain  in- 
creases and  decreases  with  the  phases  of  the  moon  ;  sensation 
and  motion  are  in  the  first  ventricle,  imagination  and  cogita- 
tion in  the  third  ventricle. 

Medicine,  which  like  pedagogy  depends  upon  a  solid 
foundation  of  science,  was  discouraged.  Drugs  and  sanita- 
tion were  actually  opposed.  Because  sickness  was  thought 
to  be  due  to  evil  spirits,  healing  was  performed  by  miracles, 
fetishes,  charms,  relics,  amulets,  potions,  exorcisms,  royal 
touch,  and  by  tortura  insomniae.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of 
men,  women,  and  children  were  tortured  for  being  the  instru- 
ments of  Satan.  We  are  now  certain  that  they  were  not 
under  the  influence  of  witches  or  Satanic  imps,  but  simply 
suffering  from  diseases  of  the  nervous  system.  But  with  a 
systematized  resistance  to  the  investigation  of  the  nervous 
system,  Nature  snugly  concealed  her  facts  and  laws  from 
the  eyes  of  sinful  man.  The  most  elementary  facts  about 
the  child  as  a  psychophysical  mechanism  simply  were  not 
understood  or  were  misunderstood.  Theological  conceptions 
such  as  the  doctrine  of  child  depravity  took  the  place  of 
scientific  interpretation.  Man  did  not  even  know  how  many 


10  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

ribs  he  had,  because  theological  interpretation  was  preferred 
to  the  testimony  of  eye  and  hand. 

With  the  age  of  geographical  discovery  was  ushered  in 
a  spirit  of  scientific  discovery.  Both  partake  of  a  similar 
impulse,  —  man's  adventurous  daring  to  penetrate  the 
unknown. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  pioneers  of  discovery  was  the 
impetuous,  forceful  Belgian,  Vesalius,  the  father  of  modern 
anatomy.  In  the  face  of  conservatism,  prejudice,  and  actual 
persecution,  he  abandoned  the  venerable  charts  of  Galen  and 
went  straight  to  the  facts  of  nature. 

The  original  of  the  accompanying  portrait  of  Vesalius,  now 
in  Cornell  University,  is  eloquently  described  by  Andrew 
D.  White  in  his  "History  of  the  Warfare  of  Science  with 
Theology  "  :  "  By  the  magic  of  Hamann's  pencil  Vesalius 
again  stands  on  earth,  and  we  look  once  more  into  his  cell. 
Its  windows  and  doors,  bolted  and  barred  within,  betoken 
the  storm  of  bigotry  which  rages  without ;  the  crucifix, 
toward  which  he'  turns  his  eyes,  symbolizes  the  spirit  in 
which  he  labors ;  the  corpse  of  the  plague  stricken  beneath 
his  hand  ceases  to  be  repulsive  ;  his  very  soul  seems  to  send 
forth  rays  from  the  canvas,  which  strengthen  us  for  the  good 
fight  in  this  age." 

Dissection  of  the  body  had  for  centuries  been  frowned 
upon  as  impious,  but  Vesalius  "  haunted  gibbets  and  charnel 
houses"  so  that  he  might  secure  material  for  his  classic  work 
"  De  corporis  human!  fabrica."  This  great,  "  sincere  book," 
beautifully  illustrated  with  accurate  drawings,  laid  the 
foundation  of  modern  biological  science.  Locy  says,  "  It  is 
more  than  a  landmark  in  the  progress  of  science  ;  it  created 
an  epoch."  In  the  spirit  of  modern  science  he  performed  ex- 
periments on  living  structures  to  determine  their  function. 
This  method  of  experimental  observation,  which  Harvey 


11 


12  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

introduced  in  the  study  of  the  living  body,  has  never  ceased 
to  this  day.  It  has  been  most  fruitful  in  deepening  our 
insight  into  life.  With  Harvey  it  resulted  in  that  most 
fundamental  truth,  the  circulation  of  the  blood. 

A  century  after  Harvey,  Albrecht  Haller,  the  learned 
Swiss,  made  his  observations  which  overthrew  the  old  doc- 
trine of  animal  spirits.  He  established  the  independent  irri- 
tability of  muscle  and  nerve  tissue,  and  thus  paved  the  way 
for  a  scientific  interpretation  of  reflex  action.  He  gathered 
the  chief  facts  and  theories  of  his  time  into  a  volume  of 
vast  learning,  and  may  be  considered  with  Harvey  one  of 
the  founders  of  modern  physiology. 

The  nervous  system  soon  came  to  be  recognised  as  the 
supreme  organ  of  the  body,  and  conceptions  in  respect  to  it 
took  shape.  Sir  Charles  Bell,  in  1811,  distinguished  the 
motor  and  sensory  branches  of  the  spinal  nerves,  which  led 
to  the  modern  theory  of  reflex  action.  This  theory  explains 
reflexes  on  a  mechanical  basis,  tracing  an  impulse  over  a 
physical  highway  to  its  culmination,  without  calling  in  the 
assistance  of  a  semitelepathic  sympathy.  The  old  notion 
which  made  the  brain  a  gland,  a  distillery  for  subtle  vapors, 
similarly  had  to  give  way  for  the  illuminating  facts  about 
cerebral  localization.  In  1860  the  great  French  surgeon 
Broca  discovered  the  particular  area  in  the  brain  which 
controls  articulate  speech.  This  brilliant  discovery  was  fol- 
lowed by  others  which  have  to  a  marvelous  degree  explained 
the  nature  and  functions  of  the  human  cerebral  cortex. 

There  are  two  branches  to  the  study  of  anatomy.  One, 
gross  anatomy,  investigates  the  larger  conformations  and 
relationships  of  the  structures ;  the  other  is  minute  anat- 
omy. When  the  compound  microscope  was  invented,  at  the 
close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  observation  of  nature 
was  raised  to  a  higher  power.  The  early  microscopes  were 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  INTERPRETATION  OF  LIFE     13 

crude  and  clumsy  affairs  compared  with  the  beautiful  in- 
struments of  to-day,  but  the  revelations  which  they  brought 
forth  fascinated  the  pioneer  microscopists  so  that  they  sacri- 
ficed their  eyes  and  gave  their  lives  to  an  exploration  of 
the  minute.  Grew  of  England  studied  the  fine  structure  of 
plants  and  vegetables ;  Malpighi  of  Italy  wrote  on  glands 
and  capillaries  and  the  anatomy  of  the  silkworm;  Swam- 
merdam  produced  a  marvelous  treatise  on  the  honeybee ; 
Leeuwenhoek  distinguished  himself  by  his  discovery  of 
microscopic  animal  forms,  which  he  called  animalcula. 

Locy  quotes  a  paragraph  which  gives  us  an  interesting 
glimpse  into  the  work  of  Swammerdam :  "  His  daily  labors 
began  at  six  in  the  morning,  when  the  sun  afforded  him 
light  enough  to  enable  him  to  survey  such  minute  objects, 
and  from  that  time  until  twelve  he  continued  without  in- 
terruption, all  the  while  exposed  in  the  open  air  to  the 
scorching  heat  of  the  sun,  bareheaded,  for  fear  of  interrupt- 
ing the  light,  and  his  head  in  a  manner  dissolving  into  sweat 
under  the  irresistible  ardor  of  that  powerful  luminary."  At 
night  he  was  almost  as  constantly  engaged  in  recording  his 
observations  by  drawings  and  suitable  explanations. 

The  protozoa,  ever  since  their  discovery  by  Leeuwen- 
hoek, have  been  studied  with  great  energy  and  ingenuity. 
In  them  the  phenomena  of  life  and  behavior  are  reduced  to 
elementary  terms,  which  offer  much  suggestion  for  physi- 
ology and  psychology.  Especially  notable  in  this  field  are 
the  labors  of  Verworn,  O.  Fr.  M uller,  Ehrenberg,  Metch- 
nikoff,  Jennings,  and  Loeb. 

Bacteria  are  microorganisms  allied  to  the  protozoa.  They 
belong  to  the  world  of  the  infinitely  small,  and  could  not 
be  studied  with  effect  until  the  perfection  of  the  com- 
pound microscope  in  the  nineteenth  century.  The  germ 
theory  of  disease,  which  had  been  suggested  a  generation 


14 

earlier,  was  experimentally  proved  by  Pasteur  and  Koch 
in  1877.  Bacteriology  is  now  an  important  department  of 
biology,  and  the  brilliant  researches  in  this  field  have  con- 
tributed their  valuable  share  to  the  protection  and  compre- 
hension of  child  life  in  health  and  disease. 

No  science  has  contributed  quite  so  much  to  an  under- 
standing of  the  mechanics  of  behavior  as  has  the  science  of 
histology.  This  science  carries  anatomical  analysis  to  its 
minutest  elements,  inquiring  into  the  organization  of  the 
tissues  themselves.  The  historian  tells  us  that  the  name 
of  the  brilliant  young  Frenchman  Bichat  must  be  ranked 
with  that  of  Vesalius,  because  he  initiated  these  profound, 
far-reaching  structural  investigations.  The  modern  cell 
theory,  which  was  established  by  Schwann,  Schleiden,  and 
a  long  line  of  other  laborers,  was  the  first  great  generaliza- 
tion resulting  from  histological  study.  This  theory,  which 
we  so  freely  imbibe  and  which  nowadays  is  taught  to 
primary  children,  was  not  announced  until  1838.  Twenty- 
three  years  later  Schultze  established  that  other  epoch- 
making  generalization,  the  doctrine  of  protoplasm.  These 
two  grand  conceptions  are  among  the  most  far-reaching 
achievements  of  modern  science.  They  unify  and  identify 
in  a  fundamental  way  the  structures  of  plants  and  of  ani- 
mals, reducing  them  to  elementary  globules  of  protoplasm, 
living  cells.  Protoplasm  is  the  physical  basis  of  life,  which 
links  the  child  with  all  organisms,  even  the  lowest.  Biology 
is  the  science  of  life.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Max  Schultze 
should  sometimes  be  called  the  father  of  modern  biology. 

The  histologists  the  world  over  are  still  busy  describ- 
ing, drawing,  and  photographing  the  myriad  cells,  in  health 
and  disease,  which  make  up  our  bodies  and  those  of  plants 
and  animals.  They  have  even  estimated  the  total  number 
of  cells  in  the  human  body.  These  cells  are  not  the  same 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  INTERPRETATION  OF  LIFE     15 

in  size,  shape,  or  importance.  If  we  arrange  them  in  a 
hierarchy,  the  nerve  cells  —  some  eleven  billion  in  number 
—  must  be  considered  the  most  aristocratic,  for  it  is  they 
which  initiate  and  control  all  our  behavior,  in  its  parts  and 
in  its  organized  wholes,  from  the  winking  of  an  eye  to  the 
writing  of  a  speech,  —  our  conscious  and  our  unconscious 
behavior,  from  the  peristalsis  of  our  intestines  to  the  fram- 
ing of  a  philosophical  system.  It  is  these  nerve  cells  which 
we  must  understand  if  we  would  know  the  laws  behind 
that  most  subtle  and  delicate  piece  of  machinery,  the  child. 
The  science  of  neurology,  which  has  for  its  subject  the 
nerve  cells,  has  furnished  invaluable  interpretations  for 
psychology  and  education. 

It  would  be  incorrect  to  think  that  neurological  investi- 
gation depends  chiefly  upon  the  patient  use  of  the  micro- 
scope. Nature  does  not  so  readily  yield  her  secrets.  In  the 
case  of  nerve  tissue  the  high-power  microscope  alone  often 
only  magnifies  her  refusal  to  yield.  It  took  the  united 
cunning  of  a  generation  of  students,  the  world  over,  to 
devise  a  strategy  which  compelled  nature  to  reveal  the 
internal  architecture  of  the  nervous  system.  This  strategy 
is  represented  in  the  elaborate  technical  methods  of  pre- 
paring tissue  for  study,  contained  in  the  huge  manuals  of 
the  art  of  microscopy.  Before  tissue  is  ready  for  examina- 
tion it  must  be  fixed  in  alcohol,  hardened  and  preserved, 
embedded  in  paraffin,  cut  into  delicate  sections  by  the 
microtome,  stained  by  various  dyes,  and  mounted  between 
glass.  All  the  great  biological  and  medical  laboratories  now 
contain  hundreds  of  these  microscopic  preparations,  speci- 
mens from  the  deepest  layers  yet  penetrated  in  nature's 
fathomless  mine. 

Nowhere  are  the  persistence  and  the  patience,  the  co- 
operative and  cosmopolitan  spirit  of  modern  science  more 


16  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

beautifully  shown  than  in  the  field  of  neurology,  which 
numbers  among  its  great  men  Deiters,  His,  Gerlach,  and 
Nissl  from  Germany ;  Purkinje,  a  Bohemian ;  Golgi,  an 
Italian;  Forel,  a  Swiss;  Nansen,  a  Norwegian;  and  Barker, 
Donaldson,  and  Hodge,  Americans  To  this  list  must  be 
added  the  euphonious  name  of  Ramon  y  Cajal,  a  Spaniard, 
who  ranks  most  renowned  among  the  army  of  laborers  who 
have  enlightened  us  in  regard  to  that  most  important  factor 
in  the  life  of  the  growing  child,  —  his  nervous  system. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  SCIENTIFIC  STUDY  OF  THE  CHILD 

After  all  has  been  said,  the  most  profoundly  revolu- 
tionary and  productive  event  in  the  history  of  biological 
thought  was  the  publication,  in  1859,  of  Darwin's  "  Origin 
of  Species."  Everything  in  nature  has  a  pedigree,  a  history. 
An  organism  is  really  not  understood  even  when  anatomy, 
physiology,  and  histology  combine  to  explain  its  structure 
and  mechanism  in  minute  detail.  There  always  remains 
the  great  historical  question  of  origin  and  development. 
This  was  Darwin's  problem,  and  to  its  solution  he  conse- 
crated his  genius.  As  early  as  1835,  on  his  voyage  around 
the  world  as  naturalist  on  his  Majesty's  ship  the  Beagle, 
the  problem  occurred  to  him.  In  his  famous  letter  to  the 
botanist  Hooker  he  says :  "I  was  so  struck  with  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  Galapagos  organisms  and  with  the  char- 
acter of  the  American  fossil  mammifers  that  I  determined 
to  collect  blindly  every  sort  of  fact  which  would  bear  in 
any  way  on  what  are  species.  I  have  read  heaps  of  agri- 
cultural and  horticultural  books  and  have  never  ceased 
collecting  facts." 

The  origin  and  development  of  species  is  a  venerable 
problem.  Aristotle  spoke  of  a  principle  of  perfection  run- 
ning through  the  universe.  The  medieval  scholars  naturally 
accepted  the  Hebrew  account  of  the  genesis  of  all  things 
and  the  preservation  of  species  in  Noah's  ark.  In  fact, 
the  belief  in  the  immutability  and  special  creation  of  species 
persisted  into  the  nineteenth  century.  Linnseus,  the  great 

17 


18  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

naturalist  whose  system  of  nomenclature  did  so  much 
to  bring  order  and  classification  into  the  accumulating 
knowledge  about  plants  and  animals,  believed  all  species 
were  created  in  the  beginning.  He  was  acquainted  with 
only  four  thousand  species  of  animals,  whereas  it  is  now 
known  that  the  species,  extinct  and  living,  must  easily 
number  a  million.  As  the  fossil  remains  of  extinct  crea- 
tures came  to  be  better  known,  the  idea  of  the  fixity  of 
species  became  more  and  more  untenable.  Buffon,  Erasmus 
Darwin,  and  Goethe  all  doubted  such  fixity.  Cuvier,  to 
defend  the  prevailing  concept,  presented  the  theory  of 
cataclysms,  which  asserted  that  there  were  successive  eras 
of  destruction  and  creation,  and  fossils  were  the  remnants 
of  these  ancient  cataclysms.  Lamarck  held  that  these  fossils 
represented  the  ancestors  of  living  forms.  He  -worked  out 
a  comprehensive  theory  of  descent  and  mutability  of  species 
which  entitles  him  to  be  called  the  father  of  evolutionary 
thought ;  but  he  was  neither  happy  nor  fruitful  in  sug- 
gesting the  way  in  which  species  originate  and  are  trans- 
formed. Charles  Darwin,  after  twenty-five  years  of  quiet, 
patient  study,  presented  an  explanation  of  the  way  in  his 
epoch-making  book. 

His  explanation  was  the  principle  of  natural  selection, 
which  Romanes  calls  the  most  important  idea  ever  con- 
ceived by  man.  This  principle,  like  a  telescope,  freed  man 
from  the  narrow  horizon  of  the  present  and  the  recent, 
and  allowed  him  to  glimpse  down  the  deep  perspective  of 
the  geologic  past.  It  gave  him  some  conception  of  how 
all  the  manifold  earthly  flora  and  fauna  came  to  be  what 
they  are.  Not  only  in  the  special  fields  of  zoology  and 
botany  did  it  extend  the  vision,  but  in  every  department 
of  thought  the  interpretations  of  men  were  given  a  new 
range  and  depth. 


©  D.  Appleton  and  Company 


FIG.  3.   CHARLES  DARWIN 

(From  "  More  Letters  of  Charles  Darwin  ") 

19 


20  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

Thus  sociology,  anthropology,  politics,  and  even  theology 
reshaped  their  subject  matter  along  the  new  genetic  lines. 
Embryology  became  less  purely  anatomical —  became  almost 
"romantically  historical"  under  the  new  Darwinian  influ- 
ence. Through  the  labor  of  Fritz  Miiller,  Balfour,  Mar- 
shall, and  Haeckel,  one  of  the  most  wonderful  of  all 
scientific  generalizations  was  worked  out,  —  the  theory  of 
recapitulation,  which  holds  that  animals,  in  their  individ- 
ual unfoldment,  to  a  considerable  degree  recapitulate  the 
phases  of  their  phyletic  or  racial  development. 

So  extensively  was  the  intelligence  of  the  age  affected 
that  the  nineteenth  century  has  even  been  called  Darwin's 
century.  "  Whatever  the  verdict  of  posterity,"  -  —  quoting 
from  Huxley,  the  ardent  champion  of  Darwinism,  —  "  the 
broad  fact  remains  that  since  the  publication,  and  by  reason 
of  the  publication,  of  the  '  Origin  of  Species,'  the  funda- 
mental concepts  and  aims  of  the  students  of  living  nature 
have  been  completely  changed." 

The  child  is  a  part  of  living  nature.  The  greatest  modern 
student  of  the  child  is  G.  Stanley  Hall.  When  the  history 
of  science  is  seriously  recorded,  his  name  will  be  linked  with 
that  of  Charles  Darwin.  Both  are  large-visioned  interpreters 
of  nature,  combining  scientific  methods  with  a  philosophic 
temper.  Darwin  applied  his  genius  to  the  great  genetic 
problems  of  biology ;  Hall  is  the  Darwin  of  psychology. 
Both  have  gleaned  the  fields  of  paleontology,  geology,  an- 
thropology, botany,  and  zoology,  to  set  forth  illuminating 
interpretations  concerning  the  development  and  expression 
of  life.  In  many  fields  their  studies  overlap.  Indeed,  the 
psychology  of  Hall  is  biological ;  he  has  brought  these  two 
sciences  into  intimate  and  fruitful  union.  Darwin  could 
limit  himself,  rather  strictly,  to  measurable,  verifiable  data, 
in  his  studies  of  the  plant  and  animal  kingdom;  Hall's 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  STUDY  OF  THE  CHILD       21 

labors  lie  in  the  much  less  tangible  kingdom  of  soul,  and 
in  this  difficult,  submerged  field  he  has  manifested  intuition 
and  suggestiveness  characteristic  of  genius.  He  has  collected 
his  data  from  every  possible  source,  —  from  biography,  and 
great  quantities  of  confessions  and  questionnaire  returns ; 
from  prisons,  insane  wards,  medicine,  superstition,  myths, 
folklore,  —  all  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  to  our  appre- 
ciation the  extinct  phases  of  the  life  of  the  soul.  For  he 
believes  that  our  present  consciousness  is  but  a  species,  a 
stage  in  evolution ;  that  its  history  began  with  the  origin 
of  organic  life,  if  indeed  not  earlier,  and  that  it  inherits 
as  instincts,  latencies,  rudiments,  recapitulatory  nascen- 
cies, or  unconscious  impulses,  the  prehuman  features  of 
its  development. 

G.  Stanley  Hall  is  at  once  the  foremost  leader  of  genetic 
psychology  and  of  the  child-study  movement.  No  one  has 
so  clearly  and  consistently  held  that  the  child  is  a  worthy 
center  of  unity  for  a  new  synthesis  of  all  the  knowledge 
bearing  on  physical  and  mental  development.  He  has  not 
stood  aloof  from  the  popular  and  practical  phases  of  such 
a  movement,  but  has  encouraged  a  harmony  of  psychology 
and  pedagogy,  of  science  and  all  sociological  endeavor 
which  concerns  the  child. 

Such  a  specific  and  focalized  interest  in  the  child  is  of 
very  recent  date.  In  1775  Pestalozzi  began  his  quaint  diary 
of  a  father,  which  contains  random  observations  and  a  few 
naive  experiments  on  his  son  Jacobli.  The  entries  are  often 
emotional  and  prayerful,,  and  yet  they  contain  a  vein  of 
empiricism  which  links  them  to  the  later  systematic  studies 
of  children.  In  1787  Tiedemann  wrote  his  "Observations 
on  the  Development  of  the  Minds  of  Children." 

In  1826  appeared  Froebel's  wonderful  book  "  The  Educa- 
tion of  Man."  Miss  Shinn,  herself  the  author  of  an  important 


22  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

work  on  the  mental  development  of  the  child,  has  half 
humorously  suggested  that  Froebel's  works  are  like  the 
Koran,  and  that  our  subsequent  child  study  is  like  the 
Alexandrian  Library:  "If  child  study  agrees  with  Froebel, 
it  is  of  no  use,  burn  it ;  if  it  does  not,  it  deserves  only  to 
be  burned."  Froebel  undoubtedly  ranks  among  the  deepest 
interpreters  of  childhood.  He  appreciated  the  value  of  play, 
and  his  writings  are  pervaded  with  the  concepts  of  growth 
and  development.  But  these  concepts  were  derived  from 
a  half  mystical,  philosophical  view  ;  they  are  prophetic  and 
intuitive  rather  than  biological.  Darwinism  had  not  yet 
come.  Froebel's  theories  present  a  curious  admixture  of 
the  logical  and  the  genetic  points  of  view,  and  in  the  light 
of  present  knowledge  they  need  correction  at  many  places. 
Much  of  the  meaning  that  lies  only  vaguely  hidden  in 
Froebel  has  been  made  explicit  by  recent  child  study,  so  it 
would  not  be  wise  to  burn  the  latter.  , 

It  is  very  significant  that  Darwin  should  have  written  a 
diary  on  the  development  of  his  infant  son.  This  diary 
consists  of  scientific  observations  strikingly  different  from 
Pestalozzi's  pious  notes.  It  is  the  natural  forerunner  of  the 
modern  studies  of  children  which  began  with  Preyer  in 
Germany  and  with  G.  Stanley  Hall  in  America. 

The  "  Study  of  the  Contents  of  Children's  Minds  on 
entering  School,"  by  Hall,  is  the  first  landmark  in  the 
child  study  of  this  country.  This  interesting  census  revealed 
a  most  wonderful  amount  of  error  and  ignorance  in  the 
primary  child's  information,  and  showed  the  practical  use- 
fulness as  well  as  scientific  interest  of  inquiry  into  his 
characteristics. 

We  can  only  make  a  compressed  summary  of  the  sub- 
sequent development  of  child  study.  G.  Stanley  Hall,  with 
an  enthusiastic  group  of  coworkers  and  students  at  Clark 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  STUDY  OF  THE  CHILD       23 

University,  has  been  the  chief  leader  of  this  development. 
He  founded  the  Pedagogical  Seminary  and  the  American 
Journal  of  Psychology  for  the  publication  of  child-study 
investigations.  His  monumental  work  "Adolescence"  ranks 
as  the  most  important  contribution  to  child-study  literature. 
This  work  embodies  an  incredible  amount  of  study  in  the 
varied  fields  of  physiology,  anthropology,  sociology,  sex, 
crime,  religion,  and  education,  and  furnishes  new  insight 
into  a  most  baffling  and  vital  problem.  Hall  has  just  com- 
pleted an  equally  monumental  work  entitled  "  Educational 
Problems."  Besides  a  large  number  of  minor  books  and 
the  studies  in  the  Psychological  Review  and  other  journals, 
J.  Mark  Baldwin's  two  volumes  entitled  "  Mental  Develop- 
ment in  the  Child  and  the  Race  "  may  be  mentioned  as  one 
of  the  most  ambitious  efforts  to  generalize  in  the  new  field 
of  genetic  psychology. 

Child  study  3s  an  organized  movement  took  shape  at  the 
International  Congress  of  Education,  at  the  World's  Colum- 
bian Exposition,  with  the  founding  of  a  national  society 
for  the  study  of  children.  In  the  same  year  the  British 
Association  for  Child  Study,  which  has  ever  since  had  a 
prosperous  career,  was  founded.  Organizations  sprang  up 
in  many  states  all  over  the  Union ;  especially  active  was 
the  society  in  Illinois.  The  activity  and  enthusiasm  of  these 
many  organizations,  though  destined  to  wane  after  the  first 
outburst,  were  proof  that  the  new  theories  about  children 
were  gaining  footing.  These  societies  have  done  great 
propagandic  and  educative  service,  and  the  unnumbered 
child-study  circles,  in  large  cities  and  small,  to  this  day  are 
assisting  in  bringing  to  a  wider  realization,  both  in  thought 
and  in  practice,  modern  ideas  of  education. 

One  of  the  most  important  of  the  organizations  which  have 
sprung  up  in  connection  with  the  child-study  movement  is 


24  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

the  National  Playground  Association.  The  playground 
movement  illustrates  the  unique  character  and  spirit  of 
the  child-study  movement  as  a  whole,  —  a  focalization  of 
thought  upon  the  nature  and  needs  of  the  child ;"  a  union 
in  understanding  and  helpfulness  of  experts,  laymen,  aca- 
demic investigators,  and  practical  workers.  Our  present 
appreciation  of  play  has  largely  had  its  source  in  the  bio- 
logical studies  of  instincts.  These  studies  received  their 
main  impetus  from  Darwin's  suggestive  labors.  Lloyd  Mor- 
gan's investigations  of  animal  instincts,  Groos's  two  impor- 
tant books  on  the  "  Play  of  Animals  "  and  the  "  Play  of 
Man,"  Johnson's  and  Gulick's  studies  of  play  interests, 
and  Hall's  writings  furnished  the  scientific  sanction  for  the 
renaissance  of  play.  Educators,  social  workers,  and  citizens 
are  uniting  to  put  these  scientific  findings  to  use.  Similar 
things  are  happening  in  every  department  of  education  and 
social  effort,  —  in  school  hygiene,  in  the  revival  of  the 
dance,  in  juvenile  crime,  in  children's '  amusements,  etc. 

Child  study  primarily,  however,  is  a  science,  or  an  induc- 
tive synthesis  of  all  the  sciences  dealing  in  any  way  with 
the  nature  of  childhood.  Of  fundamental  importance  are 
the  special  and  accurate  investigations  of  the  laboratory. 
The  first  laboratory  in  experimental  psychology  was  estab- 
lished by  Wilhelm  Wundt  in  1878.  Since  then  such  lab- 
oratories have  sprung  up  the  civilized  world  over,  and 
systematic  researches  on  children,  their  processes  of  learn- 
ing, judging,  remembering,  etc.,  have  furnished  important 
contributions  to  child  study.  Two  notable  works  have  ap- 
peared in  Germany  on  the  subject  of  experimental  pedagogy, 
—  one  by  Wilhelm  Lay,  the  other  by  Meumann,  a  student 
of  Wundt.  Lay  has  also  established  a  magazine  entitled 
Die  experimentelle  Padagogik.  This  new  field  represents  an 
application  of  the  mathematical  and  instrumental  methods 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  STUDY  OF  THE  CHILD       25 

of  experimental  psychology  to  the  problems  of  pedagogy. 
In  Antwerp  the  municipality  has  founded  a  pedagogical 
laboratory. 

The  new  courses  appearing  in  our  universities  and  the 
character  of  the  recently  founded  Journal  of  Educational 
Psychology  indicate  the  growth  of  experimental  pedagogy 
in  America.  Dr.  H.  H.  Goddard  is  conducting  a  research 
laboratory  in  connection  with  the  Vineland,  New  Jersey, 
School  for  the  Feeble-minded,  which  will  further  the  solu- 
tion of  Binet's  problem  of  devising  satisfactory  tests  for 
the  mental  diagnosis  of  defective  and  dull  children,  and 
will  throw  light  on  their  education.  Similar  research  sta- 
tions have  been  established  in  connection  with  institutions 
for  the  feeble-minded  at  Lincoln,  Illinois,  and  Faribault, 
Minnesota. 

Through  the  inspiration  and  leadership  of  Colonel  Fran- 
cis Parker  and  Dr.  John  Dewey,  the  Elementary  School 
of  The  University  of  Chicago  has  been  a  semi-experimental 
center  for  the  development  of  original  pedagogical  ideas 
which  have  leavened  our  public-school  system.  Columbia 
University  with  its  Teachers  College,  and  the  Horace  Mann 
and  Speyer  schools,  have  produced  many  studies  in  the  field 
of  education.  Especially  notable  is  Professor  Thorndike's 
application  of  refined  statistical  methods  to  the  measure- 
ment of  mental  capacity  and  development.  Dr.  Lightner 
Witmer,  in  Philadelphia,  has  started  a  unique  work  in  the 
study  of  backward  children.  He  conducts  a  psychological 
clinic,  and  issues  a  monthly  journal  devoted  especially  to  the 
study  and  treatment  of  retardation  and  deviation.  Signifi- 
cant also  is  the  recent  appearance  of  Dr.  G.  M.  Whipple's 
f' Manual  of  Mental  and  Physical  Tests,"  -  -"a  book  of  direc- 
tions compiled  with  special  reference  to  the  experimental 
study  of  school  children  in  the  laboratory  or  classroom." 


26  HISTORICAL  INTRODUCTION 

Some  day,  probably,  laboratories  of  child  study  and  edu- 
cational hygiene  will  be  a  regular  feature  of  every  large 
public-school  system  in  America.  Indeed,  the  school  board 
of  Chicago  has,  since  1899,  maintained  an  official  Depart- 
ment of  Child  Study  and  Pedagogic  Investigation,  under 
the  direction  of  Drs.  Christopher,  Smedley,  Brunei',  and 
Macmillan.  New  York  City  and  the  Russell  Sage  Founda- 
tion have  each  created  a  Department  of  Child  Hygiene. 
Medical  inspection  of  schools  has  extended  into  hundreds 
of  American  cities. 

All  these  facts  declare  the  trend  toward  a  more  univer- 
sal diagnosis  of  the  health  and  educational  needs  of  indi- 
vidual children.  This  is  the  logical  outcome  of  the  scientific 
study  of  the  child.  It  is  the  natural  outcome  of  the  scientific 
interpretation  of  life.  Such  interpretation  reveals  the  laws 
of  life  and  develops  a  new  conscience  toward  these  laws. 
The  end-result  will  be  a  revolution  of  the  work  of  the 
schools,  because  the  traditions  and  inherited  organization 
of  the  schools  contain  no  true  conscience  as  to  health. 

The  traditional  mission  of  the  schools  has  been  the  trans- 
mission of  culture,  the  imparting  of  skill  and  information. 
The  new  biological  temper,  which  is  the  product  of  modern 
science,  exalts  hygiene  and  makes  health  the  central  solici- 
tude in  all  the  work  of  education.  How  recent  is  this  new 
attitude  of  the  school  is  brought  home  to  us  by  Dr.  Ayres : 
"  Eleven  years  ago  the  school  superintendents  of  America, 
assembled  in  convention  in  Chicago,  discussed  the  problems 
then  foremost  in  educational  thought  and  action.  Diligent 
search  through  the  printed  report  of  that  meeting  disclosed 
no  single  mention  of  child  health,  no  word  about  school 
hygiene,  no  address  devoted  to  the  conservation  or  devel- 
opment of  the  physical  vigor  of  youth.  At  that  time  eight 
cities  in  America  had  systems  of  medical  inspection  in  their 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  STUDY  OF  THE  CHILD       27 

public  schools.  To-day  the  number  of  such  systems  is  over 
four  hundred.  This  development  is  without  parallel  in  the 
history  of  education." 

The  new  changes  in  education  have  been  directed  chiefly 
toward  the  care  of  backward,  defective,  and  delinquent 
children,  but  incidentally  the  normal  child  is  being  bene- 
fited in  untold  ways.  And  he  will  reap  the  large  benefit  in 
the  future.  The  new  biological  temper  in  education  is  also 
normalizing  and  training  our  humanitarianism.  Through 
science,  humanitarianism  is  losing  some  of  its  sentimental 
tears  and  romantic  miscarriages,  and  changing  into  a  more 
robust  attitude  of  justice  and  protection,  —  protection  of 
the  health  and  vigor  of  normal  children.  Historically,  Child 
Hygiene,  yesterday  only  a  phrase,  but  already  becoming 
a  program  for  action,  is  a  phase  or  an  outgrowth  of  the 
scientific  study  of  the  child. 

The  child-study  movement  has  grown  to  be  so  complex 
that  a  notable  effort  was  recently  made  to  bring  its  many 
phases  into  closer  relationship.  In  July,  1909,  there  was 
held  at  Clark  University  a  series  of  conferences  which,  in 
the  light  of  the  history  we  have  sketched  from  prescientific 
times  to  the  present,  takes  on  considerable  interest  and 
significance.  At  these  conferences  were  gathered  leading 
representatives  of  the  following  interests:  day  nurseries, 
kindergartens,  child  psychology,  medical  education  of  de- 
fectives and  subnormal  children,  open-air  schools,  tubercu- 
losis in  children,  eugenic  movements,  psychological  clinics, 
school  nurses  and  physicians,  settlement  work  for  children, 
boys'  clubs,  Sunday  school,  industrial  training,  child  labor, 
story-telling  league,  children's  theater,  playground  move- 
ment, children's  libraries,  dancing  and  music,  the  juvenile 
court.  It  was  a  general  child- welfare  congress.  A  chil- 
dren's institute  was  founded,  which  will  be  a  repository  for 


28  HISTOKICAL  INTRODUCTION 

information  and  a  disseminating  center  of  service,  correlat- 
ing the  scientific  studies  of  children  with  practical  methods 
for  advancing  their  physical,  mental,  and  moral  well-being. 
Experts  and  practical  laymen,  psychologists  and  social 
workers,  were  all  present  to  learn  from  each  other  and  to 
help  each  other.  They  gathered  with  a  focal  interest  in 
the  child.  It  was  a  blending  of  the  two  great  forces  which 
have  been  accumulating  volume  down  the  centuries  and 
are  now  coming  consciously  to  the  rescue  of  the  child,  — 
Humanitarianism  and  Science. 


PART  TWO 
THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE 

The  child  is  situated  between  two  vistas,  one  of  which 
reaches  into  the  remote  past,  the  other  into  the  pregnant 
future.  Sometimes  teachers  are  not  conscious  of  either  vista, 
and  this  is  shortness  of  sight.  It  takes  a  combined  seer  and 
prophet  to  see  clearly  in  both  directions,  and  the  teacher 
should  be  as  much  of  each  as  possible.  The  reason  why  so 
much  of  the  school's  activity  is  petty,  or  seems  petty,  is 
because  the  teachers  are  themselves  petty-visioned.  The 
present  in  the  individual,  in  the  race,  and  in  society  is  but 
a  stage  of  evolution,  which  can  be  understood  only  in  terms 
of  the  past.  The  child  is  not  a  static  thing  which  mere  logic, 
however  sharp,  can  by  analysis  dissect  and  thus  explain. 
Childhood  is  all  recapitulation,  nascency,  and  growth.  The 
child  has  a  pedigree,  both  human  and  biological,  and  to 
appreciate  him  we  must  think  historically. 

This  means  that  we  must  unclamp  the  chronological 
imagination  and  give  it  freedom  to  roam  back  even  beyond 
the  days  of  Moses  and  the  Pharaohs.  Our  forefathers  were 
very  parsimonious  with  their  chronology,  and  a  Cambridge 
University  scholar  in  the  seventeenth  century,  after  an 
exhaustive  study,  specifically  limited  the  imagination  to 

29 


30  THE  GENETIC  BACKGBOUND 

4004  B.C.,  October  23,  9  A.M.  (the  pedagogue  is  apt  to 
think,  perhaps,  that  everything  worth  while  begins  at  about 
9  A.M.).  But  this  is  the  age  of  evolution,  when  a  millen- 
nium in  nature's  history  is  considered  but  the  winking  of 
an  eye. 

Haeckel,  by  an  ingenious  condensation,  makes  the  vastness 
of  geological  epochs  comprehensible.  Allowing  one  hundred 
million  years  for  the  age  of  life  on  our  globe,  and  calling  this 
immense  period  a  solar  day,  the  span  of  time  s-ince  Moses 
becomes  less  than  five  seconds.  G.  Stanley  Hall,  in  a  recent 
article,  has  argued  that  it  is  "  more  scientific,  surer,  and 
psychologically  better  to  assume  and  to  think  in  vast  units 
of  time,  not  merely  to  indulge  the  momentum  of  evolu- 
tionary thought  but  as  an  aid  to  clearer  insight  and  to 
larger  views  of  the  universe."  "  The  visible  universe  is 
one  of  countless  forms  which  its  substance  and  energy 
have  taken  on,  and  the  oldest  objects  in  any  corner  of  it 
are  novelties  to  a  mind  vast  and  ancient  enough  to  grasp 
the  larger  history  of  its  eternal  flux." 

In  the  immeasurable  beginning,  when  the  earth  was  with- 
out form  and  void,  there  may  have  been  a  time  when  the 
very  chemical  elements,  some  eighty  in  number,  which  are 
at  the  basis  of  the  material  universe,  were  nonexistent,  — 
when  they,  like  man,  were  but  possibilities.  The  transforma- 
tions of  radium  suggest  how  in  the  aeons  the  distinctive 
molecules  may  have  been  formed  by  variation  in  number  and 
arrangement  of  primitive  electrons.  G.  Stanley  Hall,  after 
reviewing  the  new  conceptions  of  matter  and  energy,  and 
marshaling  many  impressive  examples  of  the  lifelike  qual- 
ities of  glass,  iron,  mercury,  colloids,  crystals,  and  other 
inanimate  substances,  concludes  that  "  the  world  in  its 
inorganic  phases  is  perhaps  more  vividly  active  than  life 
itself.  The  secrets  of  the  origin  of  the  soul  are  now  more 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE  31 

clearly  seen  to  be  bound  up,  if  not  identical  with,  those  of 
the  origin  of  life  .  .  .  and  their  primordial  germs  must  be 
coeval  with  the  dawn  of  matter  and  with  tune  itself." 

In  the  fullness  of  time,  perhaps  one  hundred  million  years 
ago,  when  all  conditions  were  favorable,  there  somehow  arose 
and  spread  in  the  primordial  sea,  which  then  bathed  the 
globe,  a  highly  complex  substance  whose  every  molecule 
was  composed  of  hundreds  of  atoms,  which  again  were 
composed  of  hundreds  of  electrons,  and  all  so  highly  and 
peculiarly  organized  as  to  support  life.  Not  only  on  this 
earth  but  possibly  on  millions  of  stars  has  this  vital  sub- 
stance, protoplasm,  appeared,  subsequently,  to  assume  count- 
less forms  and  functions.  No  one  knows  how  many  the 
ages  and  the  stages  it  took  to  bring  forth  even  this  primi- 
tive protoplasm,  which  anciently  was  structureless.  Ages 
again  elapsed  before  it  evolved  into  definite,  individual 
forms  like  the  amoeba  of  to-day. 

The  amo3ba  is  the  most  interesting  and  suggestive  crea- 
ture under  the  sun.  In  the  amoeba  life  is  reduced  to  some- 
thing like  elementary  terms ;  not  absolutely  elementary,  for 
even  this  humble  creature  is  "  the  terminal  of  a  vast  past, 
as  well  as  the  germinal  of  a  vast  future."  But,  roughly 
speaking,  the  amoeba  represents  a  simple  archetype  from 
which  all  the  life  forms  in  the  animal  kingdom  have  sprung, 
and  the  prototype  of  the  embryo  of  every  vertebrate,  in- 
cluding man.  In  such  a  microscopic  and  microcosmic  bit  of 
protoplasm  are,  and  were,  packed  all  the  manifold  possi- 
bilities of  life. 

Two  students,  who  watched  an  amoeba  continuously  for 
six  days  and  five  nights,  declared  that  they  saw  in  the  drop 
of  water  under  the  lens  of  the  microscope  scenes  so  vividly 
dramatic  as  to  be  hardly  describable  without  anthropomor- 
phic terms.  There  is  danger  of  nature-faking  here,  as  in  all 


32  THE  GENETIC  BACKGKOUKD 

interpretations  of  animal  life,  but  the  following  can  at  least 
be  said  of  the  amoeba :  first,  "  he "  is  sensitive  to  light, 
heat,  mechanical,  electrical,  and  chemical  stimuli,  to  jars 
and  shocks ;  second,  he  moves  as  much  as  one  hundred  forty- 
seven  millimeters  in  ninety-six  hours, — that  is,  he  swims  by 
thrusting  out  extemporaneous  arms  or  legs,  and  lopes  by 
lengthening  and  shortening  his  body  as  a  whole  ;  third,  he 
rests,  —  that  is,  he  reposes  after  activity,  and  the  rest  and 
activity  are  proportionate  to  each  other,  following  each 
other  rhythmically ;  fourth,  he  eats,  —  he  seems  to  detect  a 


FIG.  4.    AN  AMCEBA  PURSUING  AND  SWALLOWING  FOOD 
(From  Gulick's  "  Control  of  Body  and  Mind  ") 

paramecium  even  at  a  distance.  He  pursues  his  prey  some- 
times as  long  as  twenty  minutes,  closes  the  pseudopods 
about  the  struggling  victim,  and  squeezes  him  to  "  pulp." 

The  marvelous  thing  is  that  a  unicellular  bit  of  matter 
can  perform  all  these  essential  functions.  It  is  interesting  to 
contemplate  that  such  simple  protozoans  may  once  have  been 
the  sole  representatives  of  life  on  this  earth.  Nature  did  not 
intend,  however,  that  they  should  be  the  kings  of  creation, 
and  that  all  types  of  life  should  remain  tiny  and  aquatic. 

.  .  .  The  continents  emerged  from  the  depths  of  the  sea ; 
some  say  the  moon  was  hurled,  as  a  seething,  catastrophic 
mass,  from  the  mother  earth ;  valleys  and  river  beds  took 
shape,  and  in  the  rank  vegetation  lumbered  the  reptiles  of 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE  33 

gigantic  bulk  and  name.  Tremendous  is  the  gap  between 
the  microscopic  amoeba  and  the  enormous  diplodocus,  the 
hugest  animal  that  ever  lived.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  tribe  of  lizards  were  once  the  kings  of  creation. 

How  shall  we  state  biologically  the  difference  between 
the  amosba  and  the  diplodocus  ?  It  is  multiplication  of 
cells, — differentiation  of  cells  in  structure  and  specialization 
of  cells  in  function.  By  all  the  forces  which  make  for  vari- 
ation and  mutation,  through  natural  selection  and  through 
other  means  only  poorly  known,  the  multifarious  flora  of 
land  and  sea  were  evolved,  and  all  the  million  or  more  of 
animal  species  living  and  extinct. 

With  evolution,  cells  take  on  different  sizes,  shapes, 
properties,  and  powers.  Some  serve  the  purposes  of  diges- 
tion, others  of  excretion,  locomotion,  circulation,  respiration, 
coordination.  They  lose  their  primitive  power  of  self-sub- 
sistence, and  persist  only  in  relation  to  and  support  of  neigh- 
boring cells.  Cells  of  one  kind  can  together  constitute  a 
tissue  or  an  organ,  but  not  an  animal,  and  the  variation  in 
size,  kind,  and  relative  preponderance  of  these  different 
tissues  constitutes  the  manifold  differences  in  the  animal 
world.  The  earthworm  in  the  dust  has  almost  the  full 
complement  of  tissues,  and  sovereign  man  is  like  the  worm 
in  that  he  consists  primarily  of  a  digestive  tube ;  but  super- 
imposed upon  this  tube  are  structures  and  organs  relatively 
more  perfect  and  important  in  him  than  in  the  worm.  Im- 
personally speaking,  the  most  radical  difference  between  the 
two  creatures  is  this :  the  worm  has  only  a  few  long,  com- 
plex neurons ;  man  has  millions  upon  millions. 

The  neuron  may  be  instructively  compared  with  the 
amoeba.  Both  are  single  cells,  microscopic  bits  of  proto- 
plasm with  a  nucleus  and  cytoplasm.  But  while  the  amoeba 
has  the  power  of  locomotion  and  self-subsistence,  the  neuron 


34 


THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 


exists  and  has  importance  only  by  virtue  of  its  relationship 
to  other  cells.  The  neuron  when  mature,  unlike  the  mobile 
anweba,  has  a  definite  shape  and  size.  Typically,  it  has  a 
diameter  of,  say,  one  two-hundredth  of  an  inch,  and  has  two 
processes,  —  the  dendrite,  which  is  comparatively  short, 


FIG.  5.    FOUR  NEURONS 


A  and  C',  from  the  cerebellum ;  B,  from  the  spinal  cord ;  D,  from  the  cere- 
brum ;  a,  the  axon.   The  cells  A  and  D  are  stained  so  that  the  cell  body  and 
the  dendrites  are  black ;  B  and  C  show  the  nucleus.  (From  Gulick's  "  Control 
of  Body  and  Mind  ") 

tapering,  grayish,  and  branched  like  a  tree ;  the  neurite, 
which  is  longer,  and  may  be  wrapped  in  a  whitish,  medullary 
insulating  sheath.  The  neurite  usually  has  short  branches  at 
right  angles  (collaterals),  and  an  end  tuft  of  tiny  fibrils. 
Neurons  differ  enormously  in  shape  and  size :  some  look 
like  hairy  gourds,  others  like  baskets  or  irregular  spiders, 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE  35 

and  still  others  resemble  long  trailing  vines.  The  fibers, 
though  unimaginably  small  in  diameter,  are  over  a  yard  long 
when  they  reach  to  the  toe  tip  or  other  distant  point  of 
the  body. 

The  neuron  represents  the  acme  of  specialization.  If  all 
the  manifold  cells  of  our  body  were  arranged  in  a  hierarchy, 
the  neurons  would  surely  be  perched  highest,  for  they  are  the 
sentinel  and  captain  cells  which  bring  all  the  organs  and 
functions  of  our  body  into  harmonious  cooperation.  They 
are  also  the  basis  of  all  conscious  behavior,  and  it  is  through 
them  that  we  become  adjusted  not  only  to  our  biological 
but  to  our  social  environment. 

There  are  three  types  of  neurons,  —  the  sensory,  motor, 
associative.  The  sensory  neurons  are  the  most  primitive. 
They  constitute  the  innumerable  outposts  scattered  through- 
out our  sensitive  periphery.  There  are  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  these  which  end  freely  in  the  skin  or  terminate  in 
microscopic  end  organs.  The  cell  bodies  of  these  cutaneous 
neurons  are  massed  in  the  thirty-one  pairs  of  spinal  ganglia, 
enlargements  of  the  spinal  nerves  arranged  like  beads  along 
the  spinal  cord.  These  are  the  neurons  which  are  respon- 
sive to  pressure,  warmth,  cold,  and  pain  stimuli.  Similar 
neurons  terminate  in  the  sensitive  linings  of  the  internal 
organs,  in  the  tendons,  and  in  the  joint  surfaces.  Tiny  spe- 
cialized neurons  are  located  in  the  retina  of  our  two  eyes, 
the  rods  and  cones  ;  in  the  organs  of  corti  of  our  two  ears  ; 
in  the  mucous  membrane  of  our  nose  and  mouth.  All  the 
neurons  which  have  to  do  with  the  manufacture  of  afferent 
or  inward  impulses  and  their  transmission  are  sensory. 

The  motor  neurons  also  have  a  wide  distribution,  for  they 
supply  the  many  muscles  of  our  body  from  scalp  to  toe,  — . 
the  end  organs  of  movement,  which  constitute  43  per  cent 
of  our  body's  bulk.  They  also  connect  with  certain  glands, 


36 


THE  GENETIC  BACKGKOOTD 


like  the  perspiratory  and  salivary.  These  neurons  carry 
the  outward  or  efferent  impulses,  which  result  in  many  re- 
sponses, from  the  reflex  eyewink,  or  watering  of  the  mouth, 
to  the  pitching  of  a  baseball. 

The  associative  neurons  are  neither  afferent  nor  efferent  in 
character.  They  are  central  in  both  position  and  function. 
They  lie  between  and  about  the  neurons  which  simply  receive 
and  discharge  stimuli.  Their  business  is  to  centralize,  organ- 
ize, shunt,  adjust,  regulate,  inhibit,  and  record  stimuli.  Their 

peculiar  plasticity,  or 
memory,  makes  it  pos- 
sible for  them  to  re- 
tain past  experiences 
and  to  modify  present 
reactions  not  only  in 
terms  of  present  stim- 
uli but  in  terms  of  the 
past  and  even  of  the 
future.  The  bulk  of 
the  brain  consists  of 
associative  neurons. 
Indeed,  the  whole  nervous  system  is  essentially  nothing 
more  than  the  grand  total  of  its  millions  upon  millions  of 
neurons.  Of  course  the  nervous  system  also  contains  fibrous 
connective  tissue  in  which  these  neurons  are  enmeshed, 
lymph  in  which  they  are  bathed,  and  blood  vessels  which 
carry  their  nourishment.  But  these  are  only  accessory 
structures.  The  anatomical  and  functional  elements  are 
the  myriad  of  neurons,  —  a  myriad  unthinkably  great, 
for  Thorndike  has  calculated  that  it  would  take  an  in- 
dustrious duo-centenarian  to  count  all  the  neurons  in  a 
single  human  being.  Put  a  hypothetical  forceps  anywhere 
in  the  nervous  system,  pluck  a  dendrite,  pull,  and  you 


FIG.  6.   ENDING  OF  AXONS  OF  MOTOR  NEU- 
RONS IN  VOLUNTARY  MUSCLE  FIBERS 

(Highly  magnified) 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE  37 

could  lift  out  a  whole  neuron.  That  is,  neurons  are  not 
welded  into  each  other;  they  are  anatomically  independ- 
ent; they  touch  without  fusing.  But  this  does  not  mean 
that  they  do  not  cooperate  ;  for,  junglelike  and  bewildering 
as  the  nervous  system  appears  under  the  microscope,  it  is 
not  a  chance  tangle.  In  every  sane,  normal  being,  order- 
liness and  law  prevail  in  the  multitudinous  impulses  which 
dart  in  every  direction  through  the  mazes  of  dendrites 
and  neurites. 

The  neuron  concept  emphasizes  the  tremendous  complex- 
ity of  the  nervous  system,  but  also  makes  more  comprehen- 
sible the  main  principles  of  its  mechanism.  Neurons  are  the 
essential  elements  of  the  end  organs  and  of  the  nerves.  A 
nerve  is  a  dense  cable  of  parallel  neurons  plus  accessory 
tissue.  The  spinal  nerves  consist  of  both  sensory  and  motor 
neurons  ;  the  cranial  nerves  exclusively  of  either,  and  some- 
times also  of  both.  The  spinal  ganglia  are  collections  of 
sensory  cell  bodies,  thickenings  of  the  nerves.  The  central 
gray  column  of  the  spinal  cord  consists  of  associative  neu- 
rons, the  end  tufts  of  sensory,  and  the  cell  bodies  and  den- 
drites of  motor  neurons.  The  white  matter  of  the  spinal 
cord  consists  of  the  medullated  strands  of  ascending  and 
descending  fibers  continuous  with  or  joining  the  sensory 
and  motor  neurons  which  make  up  the  thirty-one  pairs  of 
spinal  nerves.  These  sensory  and  motor  tracts  constitute 
the  spinal  projection  system,  so  called  because  they  project 
upon  or  terminate  in  the  cerebral  cortex. 

This  cortex  is  the  most  wonderful  and  interesting  struc- 
ture in  the  whole  nervous  system.  Every  point  of  this 
thin,  grayish,  shirred  rind,  half  a  square  yard  in  extent, 
is  connected  directly  or  indirectly  with  every  other  part  of 
the  nervous  system.  As  Meynert  has  put  it,  the  cortex  is 
a  projection  surface  on  which  every  muscle  and  sensitive 


38 


THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 


point  of  our  whole  body  is  represented.  Even  the  sym- 
pathetic nervous  system  which  controls  the  vegetative 
functions  of  respiration,  digestion,  and  circulation,  and 

which,  because  of  its  independ- 
ent, nature,  is  sometimes  called 
the  autonomic  system,  has  vital 
connections  with  the  cortex.  The 
large  white  core  of  the  brain  is 
also  continuous  with  the  cortex. 
It  consists  of  a  compacted  mass 
B  of  connecting  fibers  which  join 
the  cortical  neurons  with  every 
portion  of  the  whole  nervous 
system,  near  and  remote,  and 
make  the  cortex  a  switchboard 
marvelous  beyond  man's  con- 
ception. 

There  are  three  distinguish- 
able systems  of  fibers :  'first,  the 
sensory  and  motor  fibers,  which 
connect  with  all  the  muscles 
and  end  organs  of  the  body 
l)oth  above  and  below  the  neck ; 

T*      T   ™     XT  second,  the  transverse  associa- 

FIG.  7.  THE  NEURON  LAYERS  OF 

THE  CEREBRAL  CORTEX          tion  fibers,  which  join  opposite 
A  microscopic  section  showing :  A,    hemispheres;  third,  the  longi- 

outer  layer  of  Cajal  cells;  B,  mid-     tudinal  fibers    which  join  adja. 
die  layer  of  small  and  large  pyram- 
idal cells ;  c,  inner  layer  of  poly-    cent  and  remote  parts  of  the 

morphic  cells.    (After  Piersol)         ^^  hemisphere<  This  ^d^ed 

organ,  the  cortex,  was  not  even  named,  much  less  ap- 
preciated, in  prescientific  ages.  In  an  earlier  chapter  we 
have  told  how  its  intricate  structure  and  hidden  wonders 
were  revealed  by  the  methods  of  modern  neurology.  The 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE 


39 


microscopic  investigations,  notably  of  Cajal,  have  shown 
a  dim  stratification  of  three  or  four  layers  of  complicated 
neurons :  the  outer  layer 
of  longish  Cajal  cells, 
the  middle  one  of  large 
and  small  pyramidal 
cells,  and  the  inner  one 
of  polymorphic  cells. 
Photographs  alone  can 
give  an  adequate  real- 
ization of  the  complex 
structure  of  the  cor- 
tex, and  diagrammatic 
thinking  on  the  read- 
er's part  some  concep- 
tion of  its  mechanism 
and  function.  The  cor- 
tex is  gray,  because, 
like  the  core  of  the 
spinal  cord,  it  consists 
chiefly  of  cell  bodies 
and  dendrites.  Gray 
matter  is  popularly  as- 
sociated with  mental 
caliber,  and  properly. 
The  millions  of  bits  of 
protoplasm  and  their 
treelike  processes,  of 
which  the  cortex  is 
formed,  are  the  instru- 
ments and  organs  of  all  thought  and  feeling.  The  white 
fibers  and  nerves  transmit  the  impulses  to  and  from  the 
captain  organ,  the  cortex. 


FIG.  8.    PORTION  OF  CORTEX  STAINED 

TO  SHOW  ITS  MARVELOUSLY  RICH  FIBER 

TEXTURE 

(From    Gulick's    "Control    of  Body    and 
Mind."  After  Kolliker) 


40  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

The  development  of  associative  neurons  in  particular  is 
correlated  with  the  development  of  intelligence  in  the  race 
and  in  the  individual.  Other  things  being  equal,  mental 
growth  depends  upon  the  number  and  complexity  of  asso- 
ciative neurons.  The  gross  number  in  any  child  is  absolutely 
determined  by  heredity.  The  idiot  has  fewer  than  the  im- 
becile, and  the  imbecile  may  have  fewer  than  the  normal 
person.  Though  the  full  quota  of  neurons  is  provided  at 
birth,  most  of  them  are  undeveloped  in  early  infancy, 
awaiting  the  touch  of  time  and  training.  Only  with  months 
and  years  of  experience  do  they  grow  and  take  on  organiza- 
tion. Such  organization  and  increasing  complexity  in  the 
neurons  also  seem  to  be  characteristic  of  the  different  stages 
in  racial  development.  Cajal  has  arranged  in  an  ascending 
series  typical  neurons  from  the  lizard,  frog,  white  rat,  and 
man.  They  show  a  progressive  elaboration  in  the  dendrites. 

The  superiority  of  man  is  further  reflected  in  the  extent 
of  his  association  areas.  Those  areas  of  the  cortex  which  are 
directly  and  chiefly  connected  with  the  sense  organs  are  called 
sensory ;  those  which  directly  connect  with  muscles,  motor ; 
and  the  intermediate  areas  —  frontal,  parietal,  occipito- 
temporal,  and  the  island  of  Reil  —  are  the  association 
areas.  The  latter  do  not  connect  directly  with  the  end 
organs  of  sensation  and  movement,  but  are  supplied  chiefly 
by  association  fibers,  which  in  myriad  ways  connect  these 
association  centers  within  themselves  and  with  each  other. 

A  survey  of  the  evolution  of  the  nervous  system  will  bring 
out  the  significance  of  the  association  centers.  The  amo?ba, 
of  course,  has  no  neurons,  neither  has  the  sponge.  The  mi- 
croscopic contractions  of  the  circular  muscles  about  the 
pores  of  the  sponge  result  upon  direct  stimulation.  The 
sponge  is  one  of  the  very  rare  creatures  in  which  the  mus- 
cular cells  and  nerve  elements  are  not  found  together.  As 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE  41 

a  rule  they  are  interdependent  and  inseparable,  and  really 
constitute  one  indivisible  system,  the  neuromuscular  system." 

The  sea  anemone  is  a  tiny,  mobile  digestive  pouch,  armed 
with  active  tentacles.  Throughout  its  body  walls  are  many 
muscle  cells  and  simple  neurons,  both  sensory  and  motor, 
which  connect  with  the  muscle  cells  and  control  their 
activity.  The  neurons  of  the  sea  anemone  and  the  closely 
related  hydra  are  diffusely  scattered,  and  not  compacted 
into  nerves,  ganglia,  sense  organs,  or  brain,  but,  by  courtesy, 
they  constitute  a  rudimentary  nervous  system. 

The  insects  represent  a  very  ancient  form  of  life  on  this 
globe.  In  them  the  nervous  system  is  well  developed. 
When  Charles  Darwin  contemplated  the  wonderful  possi- 
bilities of  behavior  residing  in  the  frontal  ganglia  of  an 
ant,  he  almost  concluded  that  this  tiny  bit  of  nerve  tissue 
is  the  most  marvelous  atom  of  matter  in  the  universe. 
The  insects,  however,  belong  to  a  side  branch  of  the  tree 
of  life,  and  so  we  pass  to  the  earthworm,  who  is  part  of  the 
main  trunk. 

The  earthworm  is  biologically  higher  than  the  sea  anem- 
one. It  is  not  so  exclusively  a  digestive  tube.  It  is  well 
upholstered  with  muscles  which  make  true  locomotion 
possible.  The  increase  in  complexity  of  life  in  the  air  and 
on  the  ground  was  attended  by  the  development  of  respira- 
tory, excretory,  and  circulatory  organs,  and  a  real  nervous 
system.  The  earthworm  has  true  nerves,  some  seven 
hundred  and  twenty  of  them,  —  three  pairs  for  each  seg- 
ment ;  a  long  chain  of  ganglia  known  as  the  ventral  nerve 
cord,  and  special  anterior  ganglia,  or  a  rudimentary  brain. 
But  there  are  only  three  giant  nerve  fibers  to  bind  the 
various  parts  of  the  nervous  system  together.  The  remain- 
ing number  of  neurons  are  stubby,  so  that  the  system  as  a 
whole  is  highly  segmental.  The  worm  does  not  even  have 


42  THE  GENETIC  BACKGKOUND 

a  true  spinal  cord.  In  the  amphioxus  there  is  a  dorsal  rod 
of  cartilage,  which  in  the  vertebrates  becomes  a  backbone 
incasing  a  true  spinal  cord. 

The  ancient  history  of  our  old  earth  is  recorded  in  the 
successive  geological  strata.  Scores  of  millions  of  years 
ago  this  process  of  stratification  began.  Similarly,  the  bio- 
logical history  of  man  is  reflected  in  the  successive  super- 
imposition  of  system  upon  system,  organ  upon  organ,  part 
upon  part  in  our  own  old  body,  which  has  its  archaeological 
traits  like  the  earth  itself.  Our  primitive  digestive  tube 
dates  back  to  and  is  knit  by  heredity  with  the  primitive 
digestive  pouches  of  a  Paleozoic  age.  Indeed,  as  Parker 
has  pointed  out,  our  intestinal  walls  in  cross  section  reveal 
a  neuromuscular  mechanism  substantially  like  that  of  the 
sea  anemone.  Tyler  neatly  summarizes  the  significant  facts 
about  the  almost  stratified  human  muscular  system,  as 
follows :  "  Different  parts  are  of  very  different  age.  Our 
trunk  muscles  originated  in  worms ;  those  of  shoulder  and 
thigh  in  fish ;  those  of  arm  and  leg  in  amphibia ;  the  hand, 
as  such,  was  developed  by  arboreal  mammals ;  the  central 
portions  are  older,  the  peripheral  younger." 

The  nervous  system,  which  is  so  closely  related  to  the 
muscular,  has  therefore  naturally  evolved  somewhat  on  the 
installment  plan,  from  fundamental  to  accessory.  Although 
it  is  now  knit  into  a  highly  unitary  whole,  it  still  reveals 
its  accretive  character.  Its  most  ancient  portion  is  repre- 
sented by  the  spinal  cord,  which  controls  the  fundamental 
body  reflexes.  The  spinal  cord  dates  far  back  beyond  the 
Devonian  age.  We  share  it  with  the  lowest  vertebrates. 
The  medulla,  cerebellum,  and  basal  ganglia  were  all  in  the 
nature  of  subsequent  installments ;  but  these  too  are  ancient 
when  compared  with  the  cerebral  cortex.  In  the  fishes  the 
cortex  is  nonexistent,  or  little  more  than  a  seat  for  smell. 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE 


43 


In  the  reptiles  it  is  small,  smooth,  and  slanting,  and  chiefly  a 
sensory  and  motor  center.  The  enormous  Mesozoic  dinosaurs 
were  gigantic  in  brute  strength  but 
feeble  in  wit.  Their  muscular  activi- 
ties were  large,  clumsy,  and  crude. 
The  Tertiary  mammals  developed  the 
power  to  run,  jump,  frisk,  burrow, 
and  clamber.  These  more  complex 
activities  required  a  larger  number 
and  more  delicate  arrangement  of 
neurons  for  control  and  coordination. 
With  the  enrichment  and  differentia- 
tion of  movement  the  cortex  grew  in 
both  size  and  complexity. 
Proceeding  up  the  ani- 
mal scale,  we  find  a  sub- 
stantial similarity  and 
stability  in  the  lower  nerve 
centers,  cord,  medulla,  and 
cerebellum.  The  advanc- 
ing portion  is  the  cere- 
bral cortex,  which  keeps  on 
deepening,  furrowing,  and 
expanding,  until  finall}-,  in 
the  human  species,  the 
lower  nerve  centers  are 
literally  smothered  under 
its  bulging  preeminence. 

.  The  masses  of  neurons  necessary  for  the 

So  progressive  and  marked     control  of  soch  a  huge  limb  were  many 

is  this  development  that    ^^  larser  ****  the  dinos»ur's  brain- 

(After  Lucas) 

it  has  been  said  that  the 

evident  aim  and  goal  of  the  whole  evolutionary  process  is 

the  human  cerebrum, —  nature's  "one  increasing  purpose." 


FIG.  9.   A  DixosArK's  Hi!O>  LEG 


44  THE  GENETIC  BACKGKOUND 

The  gross  facts  in  regard  to  the  evolution  of  the  racial 
cortex  are  diagrammatically  shown  in  the  accompanying 
figure.  The  microscope  reveals  even  more  interesting  tex- 
ture differences  between  the  cortex  of  man  and  that  of  the 


FIG.  10.  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  CEREBRAL  CORTEX 

Composite  diagram  of  profiles  :  1,  Amphioxus  (cortex  absent) ;  2,  fish  (cortex 
rudimentary) ;  3,  reptile  (cortex  thin  and  relatively  small) ;  4,  mammal  (de- 
velopment of  cerebrum  becoming  marked) ;  5,  chimpanzee  (the  most  nearly 
human  arboreal  mammal) ;  6,  Pithecanthropus  erectus  (the  man  of  Java, 
with  the  lowest  known  human  cranium ;  see  Chapter  V) ;  7,  the  Neanderthal 
man  (a  paleolithic  German  whose  brain  cap  was  found  associated  with  the  re- 
mains of  rhinoceros  and  cave  bear) ;  8,  Papuan  (one  of  the  lowest  of  present 
savages,  with  a  cranial  capacity  intermediate  between  the  primitive  and 
modern  European) 

lower  animals,  and  brings  out  the  encouraging  fact  that 
growth  or  medullation  of  the  neurons  continues  in  the 
human  association  areas  as  late  as  middle  life.  There  is 
reason  to  believe  that  the  period  of  plasticity  in  the  racial 
cortex  is  being  gradually  prolonged,  and  that  in  a  future 


THE  BIOLOGICAL  PERSPECTIVE  45 

age  the  many  neurons  in  the  prefrontal  region,  at  present 
undeveloped,  will  be  called  upon  to  meet  the  stimuli  and 
stress  of  an  increasingly  complex  environment. 

In  the  nervous  system,  mind  and  body,  impulse  and 
energy,  psyche  and  soma,  are  in  closest  union.  If  there  is 
psychic  heredity  as  well  as  physical  heredity,  it  is  because 
the  child  inherits  the  nervous  system  of  his  parents.  And 
if  there  is  a  kind  of  racial  psychic  heredity,  it  is  because 
science  has  shown  the  nervous  system  of  the  child  to  be 
biologically  continuous  with  that  of  his  forebears.  Instincts 
are  modes  of  behavior  acquired  by  the  race  and  perpetuated 
in  each  new  generation  by  the  transmitted  organizations 
and  predispositions  of  millions  of  neurons.  Thus  fear  and 
anger  are  as  ancient  as  the  frog;  thus  all  the  vital  and 
enduring  interests  and  experience  of  ancestors,  of  primitive 
man  and  his  prehuman  progenitors,  tend  to  survive  in  the 
behavior  of  descendants,  and  the  spirit  of  the  past  flickers 
up  again  in  the  unfoldment  of  every  individual  nervous 
system. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  PRIMITIVE   ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD 

Man  is  a  migrating  animal.  We  are  all  descended  from 
immigrants.  This  migratory  propensity  is  at  work  now.  It 
was  at  work  in  prehistoric  times.  It  moved  even  our  pre- 
human ancestors.  As  a  result,  man  very  early  settled  the 
whole  globe. 

Once  upon  a  time  this  globe  was  not  habitable.  It  was 
either  a  semimolten  mass  or  a  barren  mineral  sphere.  Now 
our  cities  are  built  on  a  sedimentary  masonry  thousands  of 
fathoms  deep.  How  long  did  it  take  nature  to  evolve  this 
crust,  some  fifty  miles  thick,  on  which  we  live  ?  Four  vast 
epochs,  —  the  Paleozoic,  the  Mesozoic,  the  Tertiary,  and  the 
Quaternary,  aggregating,  according  to  one  geological  esti- 
mate, some  one  hundred  million  years. 

Three  fourths  of  this  vast  span  belong  to  the  Paleozoic 
period.  In  this  period  the  most  ancient  stratified  crystal- 
line rocks  —  quartzites,  gneiss,  and  limestone  — were  devel- 
oped. In  this  era  also  were  developed  the  most  primitive 
forms  of  animal  life,  so  viscid  that  they  could  not  persist  in 
fossil  form.  With  the  lapse  of  millions  of  years  there  ap- 
peared in  due  succession,  through  the  gradual  processes  of 
transformism  which  have  operated  since  the  dawn  of  time, 
worms,  Crustacea,  brachiopods,  fish,  amphibia,  and  reptiles. 

Representatives  of  all  these  genera  appeared  before  the 
close  of  the  long  Paleozoic  era.    In  the  next  era,  the  Meso- 
zoic, which  lasted  some  ten  million  years,   the  reptiles  — 
some  of  which  attained  an  enormous  size  —  came  to  their 

46 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD     47 

lordship  of  water,  air,  and  land.  This  period  also  produced 
the  archaeopteryx,  with  toothed  bill,  vestigial  wing-claws, 
and  jointed  tail  feathers,  —  an  early,  uncanny  bird,  bearing 
all  over  the  marks  of  his  reptilian  ancestry. 

The  lowest  Mesozoic  mammals,  likewise,  were  closely 
allied  to  an  ancestral  reptilian  form.  The  young  of  the 
monotreme  to  this  day  completes  its  development  in  a 
hatched  egg.  The  marsupial  mammals,  who  carry  their  off- 
spring in  a  protecting  pouch,  or  fold  of  the  skin,  originated 
in  Mesozoic  times,  while  the  higher  placental  mammals  did 
not  appear  until  Tertiary.  The  Primates,  who  constitute  an 
independent  order  of  the  placentals,  include  the  half-apes 
and  the  Anthropoidea.  According  to  the  zoological  classi- 
fication the  Anthropoidea  are  subdivided  into  five  families, 
—  the  marmosets,  the  American  monkeys,  the  tailed  and 
tailless  apes,  and  the  Hominidse,  or  man  himself. 

The  Tertiary  era  began  some  four  million  years  ago. 
Even  in  this  remote  age  the  world  had  taken  on  many  of  its 
modern  aspects,  and  could  we  have  visited  a  mid-Tertiary 
meadow  we  should  have  seen  enough  familiar  plants, 
grasses,  flowers,  insects,  birds,  and  beasts  to  feel  not  alto- 
gether strange.  The  forests  numbered  oak,  pine,  cypress, 
spruce,  and  maples.  Bees  hummed,  butterflies  played  in 
the  sunshine,  and  birds  sang.  Most  of  the  world  was 
perennially  bathed  in  warm  weather.  California  sequoias 
grew  as  far  north  as  Greenland,  magnolias  in  Canada,  and 
palms  flourished  over  northern  Europe.  Not  only  the  hyena, 
cave  bear,  and  bison,  but  tropical  and  subtropical  animals 
like  the  lion,  rhinoceros,  hippopotamus,  and  elephant  ranged 
throughout  Britain  and  the  continent  with  which  it  was 
still  continuous.  Sumatra  and  Java,  like  the  British  Isles, 
were  then  part  of  the  mother  continent.  What  is  now  the 
blue  Mediterranean  was  a  broad  stretch  of  jungle  and 


48  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

prairie,  alive  with  the  colors,  movements,  and  sounds  of 
African  fauna.  In  this  region,  where  the  great  civilizations 
of  the  world  were  to  plant  their  seaports,  all  was  now  a 
savage  wild.  France  flared  with  abundant  volcanoes,  for  in 
this  period  the  earth's  crust  was  extensively  unquiet,  warp- 
ing into  plateaus  and  buckling  into  lofty  mountains.  On 
one  occasion  an  eruption  in  tropical  Java  buried  a  multitude 
of  living  beings. 

Several  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years  later  Professor 
Dubois  made  excavations  in  the  neighborhood  of  this  erup- 
tion and  unearthed  masses  of  old  bones  from  Tertiary  ele- 
phants and  other  large  mammals.  Among  these  relics  were 
a  skull  cap  and  thigh  bone  which  prompted  the  interest  of 
the  whole  anthropological  world ;  for  these  two  bones  made 
it  certain  that  a  creature  with  human  characteristics  walked 
erect  in  Pliocene  antiquity. 

The  ambiguous  name  of  this  being,  Pithecanthropus  erectus, 
suggests  his  primitive  character.  He  had  the  jaws  and  pro- 
truding brow  ridges  of  a  gorilla,  but  a  cranial  capacity  little 
less  than  that  of  the  lowest  living  savage,  and  twice  that 
of  the  highest  ape.  If  not  the  first  man,  he  represents  at 
least  man's  immediate  precursor. 

It  should  be  said,  parenthetically,  that  this  does  not  mean 
that  the  ape  is  a  degenerate  man,  or  that  man  is  a  devel- 
oped monkey,  as  uninformed  people  declare.  Man  is  not 
descended  from  a  monkey.  Man  and  ape  represent  each  a 
distinct  species,  equally  descended  from  a  common  gener- 
alized prototype.  This  generalized,  human-simian  ancestor 
was  the  remote  precursor  of  man,  and  lived  in  Miocene 
times,  say  a  million  years  before  Pithecanthropus  erectus. 
It  should  also  be  said  that  in  this  chapter  we  are  trying  to 
tell  a  simple  narrative,  and  not  attempting  a  critical  discus- 
sion of  the  moot  questions  concerning  the  history  of  man. 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD     49 

There  are  wide  differences  in  interpretations  and  chrono- 
logical estimates,  and  many  matters  are  not  settled.  But 
that  there  have  been  genesis  and  growth,  and  a  long,  long 
period  of  development,  every  one  nowadays  agrees.  For 
the  teacher  many  of  the  details  in  geology  and  theories  of 
descent  are  not  important.  But  the  genetic  point  of  view, 
the  feeling  for  the  ancient  biological  antecedents,  the  psy- 
chological heredity  and  unfolding,  the  historical,  recapitu- 
latory significance  of  childhood,  —  this  is  important.  These 
large  themes  are  surely  worthy  of  some  reflection  by  those 
who  are  dealing  with  growing  children. 

There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  Indo-Malay 
country,  where  Homo  Javanensis  lived,  was  the  cradleland 
of  humanity.  According  to  A.  H.  Keane,  who  holds  the 
monogenetic  theory  in  regard  to  human  origin,  the  race 
had  here  its  first  center,  and  from  here  it  dispersed  to  ulti- 
mately people  the  globe.  "  These  generalized  pleistocene 
precursors,"  he  says,  "  moved  about  like  the  other  migrating 
faunas  unconsciously,  everywhere  following  the  lines  of  least 
resistance,  advancing  or  receding,  and  acting  generally  on 
blind  impulse  rather  than  of  any  set  purpose." 

Should  we  not  have  the  courage  of  thought  to  picture  to 
ourselves  the  character  of  these  early  migrations  and  immi- 
grants ?  There  were,  even  in  these  rude  hordes,  mothers, 
fathers,  and  children,  holding  each  other  now  and  then  by 
the  hand,  giving  signals  of  warning  and  distress,  assisting 
each  other  on  the  march.  But  these  early  forebears  were 
indeed  rude  in  outward  aspect.  Their  eyes  were  peering 
and  set  deep  under  enormous  brow  ridges ;  their  lower  jaws, 
large  and  strong.  They  wore  no  protecting  garment  other 
than  their  own  semishaggy  coat.  Agile  in  their  native 
homes,  the  trees,  they  walked  the  earth  with  clumsy  gait, 
then*  broad  shoulders  stooping,  their  knees  bent.  The 


50  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

immaturity  and  imperfection  of  the  sprawling  infant  do  not 
excite  disgust.  Why  should  we  not  look  with  equanimity 
at  least  upon  these  first  scenes  in  the  childhood  of  the  race  ? 
This  rude  progenitor,  though  he  traveled  not  by  map  or 
car,  had  within  him  the  germs  of  the  whole  atlas  of  human 
culture.  He  already  possessed  the  rudiments  of  speech, 
which  is  the  instrument  of  all  civilization.  He  could  break 
a  branch  and  fashion  it  to  serve  a  simple  purpose  ;  this  is  the 
ability  to  make  and  use  tools,  and  is  the  root  of  all  mechan- 
ical achievement.  The  children  clung  to  their  mothers  ;  the 
male  fought  and  foraged  to  preserve  mother  and  child. 
Even  in  the  rough  hordes  the  outlines  of  family  life  had 
emerged.  There  was  parental  sympathy,  and  this  is  the 
root  of  all  morality. 

Those  who  desire  to  speculate  about  the  mental  traits 
of  this  most  primitive  human  type  can  get  suggestions  from 
the  psychology  of  man's  nearest  anthropoid  relative.  Studies 
in  the  laboratory  have  shown  that,  even  under  the  rather 
artificial  conditions  of  captivity,  the  American  monkey  has 
a  high  degree  of  intelligence  or  associative  memory ;  that 
he  has  a  certain  amount  of  practical  judgment,  which  is  a 
simple  form  of  reasoning ;  that  he  does  not  learn  exclusively 
by  the  mechanical  process  of  trial  and  error;  that  he  can 
imitate  in  a  purposive,  productive  manner.  Dr.  Rumanian's 
two  monkeys,  Jack  and  Jill,  learned  to  thread  a  compli- 
cated maze  of  seven  blind  alleys  and  twenty-seven  corners 
in  one  hundred  thirteen  and  sixty-six  trials  respectively. 
They  also  solved  certain  mechanical  puzzles  with  the  same 
rapidity  and  success  as  a  doctor  of  philosophy. 

A  most  suggestive  and  intimate  account  of  "  A  Monkey 
with  a  Mind  "  has  recently  been  furnished  by  Dr.  Lightner 
Witmer.  Peter,  strictly  speaking,  is  not  a  monkey,  but 
a  chimpanzee.  The  chimpanzee  in  many  respects  comes 


THE  PEIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD     51 

nearest  to  man.  His  arms  are  much  shorter  than  the  gorilla's, 
reaching  /mly  a  little  below  the  knees ;  he  also  has  a  better- 
developed  head,  great  toe,  and  thumb ;  his  whiskers,  eye- 
brows, lashes,  and  teeth  approach  the  human  in  character ; 
he  is  said  to  be  naturally  more  tractable  and  social,  living 
not  only  in  family  groups  but  in  parties  of  several  families ; 
the  male  builds  tree  shelters  for  the  female  and  young, 
and  sleeps  lower  down  to  protect  them. 

Peter  has  been  taken  away  from  his  African  arboreal  en- 
vironment, has  been  put  into  evening  clothes,  and  brought 
before  the  audiences  of  large  cities.  To  come  at  close  range 
with  Peter's  powers,  Dr.  Witmer  made  several  private  ex- 
aminations, and  finally  brought  him  before  his  psychological 
clinic,  subjecting  him  to  certain  mental  tests  used  in  diag- 
nosing the  intellectual  grade  of  backward  and  defective 
children.  All  these  observations  resulted  in  the  interest- 
ing conclusion  that  Peter  ranks  upon  the  plane  of  a  low  or 
middle-grade  human  imbecile.  He  has  decided  motor  dex- 
terity ;  he  skates  on  roller  skates,  learning  by  himself  in 
a  few  hours ;  he  rides  a  bicycle,  drinks  from  a  tumbler, 
eats  with  a  fork,  threads  a  needle,  lights  and  smokes  a 
cigarette,  strings  beads,  and  puts  pegs  in  a  board ;  he  shows 
a  high  degree  of  practical  judgment  in  opening  a  strange 
lock  and  selecting  a  needed  key  from  a  key  ring ;  he  can 
use  a  hammer,  drive  a  nail,  drive  a  screw,  and  select  the 
proper  screw  driver  for  his  purpose  ;  he  partially  succeeded 
even  with  the  classic  test  of  inserting  various  geometrical 
blocks  into  a  special  form  board  with  shallow  depressions ; 
but  most  mirabile  dictu,  after  a  W  had  been  drawn  on  the 
blackboard  he  copied  it  in  direct  tracery  imitation.  He  can 
articulate  "  mama,"  and  learned  in  a  five-minute  phonic  drill 
to  pronounce  "  P."  He  shows  decided  powers  in  compre- 
hension of  language.  His  emotional  traits  are  no  less 


52 


THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 


wonderful,  for  his  mobile  face  expresses  in  turn  nonchalance, 
eagerness,  disappointment,  courage,  distress,  protest,  inquiry, 
affection,  and  "  at  times  he  even  has  something  very  like 
a  momentary  grin  of  humor,  albeit  ghastly  because  of  the 
cavernous  mouth  and  huge  jaw." 

It  has  been  suggested  that  the  apelike  man  of  Java  may 
be  regarded  as  an  intermediate  transitional  form  which 
fills  the  anatomical  gap  between  modern  man  and  his  brute 
ancestors.  There  is  a  similar  psychological  gap  or  chasm. 

This  chasm,  Dr.  Witmer 
holds,  Peter's  mind  practi- 
cally bridges.  Since  mind 
cannot  be  preserved  for  us 
in  osseous  fossils,  we  cannot 
look  elsewhere  for  a  bridge 
or  link.  When  we  reflect 
that  many  cases  of  feeble- 
FIG.  11.  PETER'S  WHITING  o\  THE 
BLACKBOARD 


A,  the  letter  W  drawn  twice,  one  tracing 
o^er  the  other; 


mindedness  are  really  to  be 
interpreted  as  instances  of 

n  wce,  one  racng  £  j         n 

Peter's  copy  after     arrest  of  development  on  a 

the  second  tracing  ;  A2,  Peter's  second     primitive  racial  level,  a  very 

effort  when  told  to  make  a  W  again;       •       •,-  -i      i       •,  • 

B,  a  scrawl  following  the  first  tracing     Significant     and     legitimate 

conclusion  is  that  ?f  the  study 

of  this  ape's  mind  is  a  subject  fit,  not  for  the   animal 
psychologist,  but  for  the  child  psychologist." 

To  come  back  to  the  first  dispersion  of  the  human  spe- 
cies. No  one  can,  of  course,  say  how  long  it  took  for  man 
to  spread  over  the  whole  habitable  globe.  His  rate  of  in- 
crease may  have  been  fast,  but,  while  nimble  in  the  trees, 
his  progress  on  the  ground  must  have  been  gradual.  The 
climate,  however,  was  uniformly  mild,  and  his  complete 
occupation  of  the  world  was  probably  under  way  by  the 
close  of  the  Tertiary  epoch.  In  this  remote  age  there  were  of 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD     53 

course  no  nations,  —  not  even  races.  This  early  man  was  a 
generalized  ancestor,  from  whom  the  four  primary  divisions 
of  the  human  species — Negro,  Mongolian,  American,  Cauca- 
sian —  were  not  to  diverge  until  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
years  had  elapsed. 

The  home  of  most  primitive  man  was  like  that  of  the 
Swiss  family  Robinson.  Not  only  in  appearance,  but  to  some 
extent  in  habits,  he  must  have  resembled  his  nearest  kin. 
His  food  consisted  of  roots,  berries,  plants  rich  in  cellulose, 
nuts,  honey,  and  insects.  He  had  few  ornaments  of  beauty 
and  tools  of  utility.  Some  writers  have  even  questioned 
whether  he  had  the  cortical  neurons  that  would  enable  him 
to  talk.  At  any  rate  his  utterances  were  thick  and  clung 
to  the  base  of  his  tongue ;  for  nimbleness  and  subtlety  of 
articulation  go  with  the  development  of  abstract  ideas,  of 
which  he  possessed  very  few.  His  life  was  probably  arboreal 
until  the  increasing  cold  climate  drove  him  into  caves. 

With  the  close  of  the  Tertiary  epoch  a  great  meteor- 
ological and  geological  change  came  over  the  earth,  which 
had  a  powerful  effect  upon  the  natural  history  of  man. 
Mysteriously,  from  the  north,  crept  a  great  ice  cap,  which 
covered  a  good  part  of  the  northern  hemisphere  with  gla- 
ciers and  icebergs.  As  mysteriously  it  retreated,  to  reappear 
at  least  once  again.  In  the  warm  interglacial  period  —  a 
duration  of  perhaps  five  hundred  thousand  years  —  the 
first  achievements  of  truly  human  culture  were  made.  In 
this  period  fall  the  eolithic  and  the  paleolithic  age,  —  the 
latter  lasting,  according  to  Keane,  about  three  hundred 
thousand  years.  Even  though  these  figures  are  but  an 
estimate,  they  will  serve  to  impress  the  thoughtful  reader 
with  the  comparative  brevity  of  our  historical  era,  the  ancient 
lineage  of  our  civilization,  and  the  very  primitive  ancestry 
of  the  modern  child. 


54  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

Paleolithic  man  —  and  woman  too  —  was  a  hunter.  The 
ice  invasion  may  have  exterminated  some  of  his  most  dan- 
gerous foes,  but  there  were  enough  ferocious  species  left 
to  call  forth  all  his  fear  and  fight  and  cunning.  His  con- 
temporaries, although  he  lived  as  far  north  as  England,  were 
the  cave  bear,  the  cave  lion,  the  cave  hyena,  the  wild  ox, 
wild  boar,  wild  horse  and  wolf,  hippopotamus,  and  woolly 
rhinoceros.  But  most  terrible  of  all  was  the  huge,  saber- 
toothed  tiger,  with  his  enormous  jaw,  his  dagger  teeth,  and 


FIG.  12.   THE  CAIRN 
(From  the  painting  by  John  W.  Alexander  in  the  Congressional  Library) 

powerful  wrenching  neck  muscles.  This  most  deadly  of 
all  beasts  struck  terror  even  to  the  shaggy-maned  mam- 
moth. With  such  enemies,  and  no  protection  but  the  cav- 
erns and  overhanging  cliffs,  the  primeval  savage  was  put 
to  his  wit's  end.  In  the  beginning  he  did  not  even  have 
fire  to  drive  the  wild  beasts  away.  The  night  was  utterly 
dark,  filled  with  ominous  silences  and  terrifying  sounds  — 
bellowing,  splashing,  roars,  snorts,  and  howls ;  and  if  he 
heard  the  voice  of  his  own  humankind,  it  usually  was 
nothing  more  than  jabber,  grunt,  or  cry. 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD     55 


But  though  he  had  not  the  brute  strength  of  the  beasts, 
he  had  intelligence  in  greater  measure  than  any  of  them. 
Intelligence  is  the  capacity  to  profit  by  experience.  It  de- 
pends upon  a  nervous  system  plastic  enough  to  form  habits. 
Professor  Yerkes  built  an  experimental  aquarium  to  test 
whether  the  frog  has  such  a  nervous  system.  A  hungry 
frog  was  introduced  at  the  aperture  a,  shown  in  the  ac- 
companying diagram.  The  question  was,  Would  the  frog 
learn  the  direct  route  a  —  #,  or  would  he  do  no  more  than 
instinct  prompted  him ;  that  is,  move  about  aimlessly  and 
unintelligently  ?  He  proved  to  be  educable.  After  some 


FIG.  13.    TEST  OF  ANIMAL  INTELLIGENCE  IN  THE  FROG 

fifty  to  one  hundred  trials  he  pursued  the  proper  path, 
and  when  retested  a  few  weeks  later  showed  that  he  had  re- 
tained his  acquisition.  The  ability  and  propensity  to  swim, 
snap  at  flies,  and  hibernate  were  provided  by  nature  in 
the  inborn  constitutional  organization  of  the  frog's  nervous 
system.  Habit  formation,  on  the  contrary,  depends  upon 
the  connections  between  neurons  which  are  established  only 
through  the  touch  of  experience.  Intelligence  does  not 
supplant  instinct,  but  supplements  it.  Both  instinct  and 
intelligence  increase  with  the  evolution  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem. Primitive  man,  therefore,  was  superior  to  the  animals 
with  whom  he  contended  in  natural  instinctive  endowment 


56  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

as  well  as  in  capacity  to  learn.    This  double  advantage 
made  him  in  time  the  one  universal,  dominant  species. 

He  succeeded  in  paleolithic  times  in  planting  himself 
over  the  whole  habitable  earth.  His  rude  relics  have  been 
found  the  world  over.  The  stones  which  he  at  first  only 
hurled,  or  piled  as  a  safety  wall  at  the  mouth  of  his  cave, 
he  learned  to  fashion,  by  breaking  and  chipping  into  various 
implements,  —  spearheads,  axes,  knives,  saws,  and  scrapers. 
He  gradually  grew  in  his  power  to  make  tools  and  to  con- 
trive. He  learned  to  fasten  a  heavy  stone  to  a  lance,  to 


FIG.  14.  BONES  TRANSFORMED  BY  CATAI.INA  INDIANS  INTO  FLUTE,  LANCE 
HEAD,  HIDE  SMOOTHER,  NEEDLE,  FISHHOOK,  AWL,  SPOON,  AND  BOWL 

(From  a  photograph  of  a  collection  at  the  Southwest  Archaeological  Museum, 
Los  Angeles) 

give  it  death-dealing  force  when  dropped  upon  a  mastodon 
or  sabertooth.  He  also  made  pitfalls,  snares,  and  traps. 
When  the  hunt  was  successful  all  gathered  around  the  car- 
cass, drank  its  warm  blood,  ate  its  raw  meat,  and  sucked 
the  nutritious  marrow  from  the  bones.  We  need  not  shrink 
from  the  picture,  for  the  near  descendants  of  this  same  sav- 
age made  awls  and  borers  of  the  bones,  etched  drawings  upon 
them,  and  even  made  flutes  of  them  to  bring  forth  music. 
Paleolithic  man  was  not  merely  a  gnawer  of  bones.  Nor  must 
we  forget,  as  Spencer  has  reminded  us,  that  out  of  these 
same  savages  came  at  length  our  Newtons  and  Shakespeares. 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD     57 

Before  a  Newton  came,  however,  the  race  had  to  pass 
through  several  more  primary  grades  of  culture.  The  paleo- 
lithic period  in  Europe  came  to  a  close,  roughly  speak- 
ing, with  the  disappearance  of  the  last  ice  sheet.  That  was 
about  a  hundred  thousand  years  ago.  Of  these  one  hun 
dred  millenniums,  seventy  belong  to  the  neolithic  period, 
twenty  to  the  metal  ages,  and  ten  to  historic  times 
(Keane's  estimate) . 

The  neolithic  age  was  a  golden  period  in  the  larger  his- 
tory of  man.  It  has  been  questioned  whether  he  has  ever 
since  shown  quite  so  much  creative  power.  In  this  period 
language  became  organic ;  religious  ideas  developed  ;  social 
groups  were  formed  by  the  combining  of  families  and  clans  ; 
pile  dwellings  and  kitchen  middens,  ditch  dwellings  and 
circular  huts,  were  built  for  the  living ;  graves  were  dug 
for  the  dead ;  sepulchral  chambers  and  monuments,  mega- 
lithic  and  monolithic,  were  reared  the  world  over.  The  art 
of  stock  breeding,  of  making  polished  stone  implements, 
spinning,  weaving,  mining,  and  pottery  were  all  begun. 
Both  plants  and  animals  were  domesticated,  —  cereals  and 
vegetables,  fruits,  dogs,  sheep,  horses,  and  cows.  But  the 
supreme  achievement  was  the  conquest  of  fire ;  neolithic 
man  domesticated  fire,  and  fire  domesticated  him. 

How  the  picture  changes  when  fire  lights  up  the  dark, 
repelling  the  prowling  beasts,  brightening  the  gloomy  cave, 
and  drawing  whole  families  to  its  friendly  warmth !  Fire 
worked  a  revolution.  Woman  became  the  fire  keeper ;  food 
was  no  longer  eaten  raw ;  cooking  brought  concentrated 
instead  of  bulky  meals.  This  dietary  change  reduced  the 
stomach  capacity  and  size  of  the  jaw,  and  freed  a  vast 
amount  of  kinetic  energy  for  man's  further  uplift. 

The  first  centers  of  neolithic  culture  were  probably  in 
the  favored  region  of  the  Nile  and  the  Euphrates,  where 


58  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

the  climate  was  temperate  even  during  the  ice  age.  With 
progress  in  civilization  and  increase  in  numbers  migrations 
became  frequent.  From  the  south  streamed  a  tall,  dolicho- 
cephalic people,  who  mingled  with  or  replaced  their  ruder 
predecessors  in  Europe.  Later,  it  is  thought,  hordes  smaller 
in  stature,  and  brachycephalic,  came  from  the  East.  Still 
later  —  perhaps  twenty-five  thousand  years  ago  —  came  the 
migrations  of  pastoral,  Aryan-speaking  tribes.  This  was  a 
twofold  invasion  —  one  by  tall,  blonde,  long  heads  from  the 
Eurasian  steppes ;  the  other  by  short,  dark,  round  heads 
from  Armenia,  through  Asia  Minor.  The  speech  of  these 
probably  conquering  peoples  persists,  but  as  a  distinct  race 
they  have  vanished,  mingling  with  a  hundred  other  stocks 
already  in  possession  of  Europe. 

These  Aryan  peoples  had  a  primitive  pastoral  culture. 
They  reared  herds  of  cattle,  sheep,  and  goats,  and  made  the 
dog  their  friend  and  helper.  They  constructed  rude  wagons 
by  charring  and  chopping  axle  and  wheels  from  a  single 
tree  trunk.  They  built  round  huts  of  sod  and  branches, 
but  in  the  winter  they  lived  in  caves.  Their  clothing  was 
undressed  skin,  or,  later,  rough  wool  and  flax.  The  wives 
were  captured  for  marriage,  and  were  put  to  death  when 
the  husband  died.  Yet  Keane  says,  "They  were  a  gifted 
people,  who,  more  than  any  other,  may  be  supposed  by 
their  very  dispersion  to  have  leavened  the  rude  prehistoric 
masses,  thus  raising  a  great  part  of  humanity  to  a  higher 
social  plane." 

The  Teutonic  type  of  Aryan  became  specialized  in  a 
second  home,  the  Baltic  land,  from  where  he  later  spread 
over  Europe,  and  still  later  over  most  of  the  world.  The 
Germans  described  by  Tacitus  represent  the  primitive  man 
who  lies  closest  to  us  in  point  of  time  and  culture,  and 
with  many  of  us  in  direct  blood  relationship.  It  surely  is 


THE  PKIMITIVE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  CHILD     59 

interesting  to  contemplate  that  the  forebears  of  that  boy  in 
the  front  seat,  only  two  thousand  years  ago,  were  lounging 
and  hunting  in  the  woodlands  of  Germany,  "loving  indo- 
lence and  hating  tranquillity,"  -  —  superstitious,  loyal,  brave, 
brutal,  and  highminded  forest  children,  clad  in  the  skin  of 
beasts. 

Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  culture-epoch  theory, 
there  is  without  doubt  a  general  parallelism  between  child- 
hood and  primitive  man.  The  child  has  both  an  intellectual 
and  an  emotional  sympathy  for  primitive  life.  He  can 
appreciate  its  problems  because  they  are  simple,  crude,  and 
within  his  mental  grasp.  He  warms  up  to  the  problems 
because  they  appeal  to  his  instinctive  nature.  As  Hall  has 
said,  "The  child  is  not  so  much  the  father  of  the  man  as 
at  first  his  most  primitive  and  half-anthropoid  ancestor." 
Later  he  evolves  into  something  of  a  savage  and  then  of  a 
barbarian,  if  he  does  not  repeat  with  definiteness  the  hunt- 
ing, fishing,  pastoral,  and  agricultural  stages  of  civilization. 

Dr.  John  Dewey,  Dr.  Katherine  Dopp,  and  Miss  Emily 
Rice  of  Chicago  University  have  shown  in  various  ways, 
both  practical  and  theoretical,  how  the  natural  bond  between 
primitive  man  and  the  child  can  be  recognized  and  utilized 
in  education.  The  teacher  who  hopes  to  induct  the  child 
into  the  past  must  evoke  the  past  in  the  child.  She  can 
do  this  only  by  having  a  warm  sympathy  for  primitive 
peoples,  both  living  and  extinct.  To  have  this  sympathy 
one  must  psychologize  and  get  into  the  very  motives,  fears, 
failures,  joys,  capacities,  and  imaginations  of  primitive  man. 
Only  then  can  his  mythology,  the  story  of  his  combat  with 
nature,  and  his  industrial  achievements  be  made  to  tingle 
with  reality.  It  is  no  easy  thing  to  get  into  the  soul  of 
primitive  man,  but  it  is  no  harder  than  to  get  into  the  soul 
of  a  child. 


60  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

That  there  is  a  certain  psychological  identity  between 
primitive  man  and  the  child  was  not  proved,  but  was 
brought  home  with  all  the  suggestiveness  of  a  parable, 
through  a  simple  story  recently  told  by  the  curator  of  an 
archaeological  museum.  This  curator,  a  man  of  broad  sym- 
pathies, says  that  he  learns  something  from  almost  every 
visitor  with  whom  he  converses. 

Once  a  child  came  into  the  museum.  To  amuse  her  he 
spilled  a  handful  of  ringlike  shells  into  her  lap  and  told 
her  to  play.  These  shells,  which  had  been  found  in  great 


Fir,.  15.    NECKLACE  OF  SHELLS 

numbers  associated  with  the  remains  of  Catalina  Indians, 
were  then  the  subject  of  some  discussion.  The  learned 
ethnologists  and  anthropologists  had  vaguely  concluded 
that  the  shells  were  used  as  spangles  or  ornaments.  After 
a  half  hour's  play,  in  which  the  child  had  expressed  the 
same  venerable  instinct  of  workmanship  which  she  shared 
with  the  extinct  Indians,  she  brought  back  a  beautiful 
necklace,  in  which  the  shells  were  interwoven  simply  but 
effectively  in  a  way  which  the  wise  doctors  could  never 
have  thought  out.  It  was  a  revelation.  A  child  in  natural 
play  restored  and  repeated  a  chapter  in  the  life  of  a 
primitive  people. 


CHAPTER  VI 

INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION 

Some  one  has  said  that  the  more  we  know  about  the  past 
the  less  we  respect  it.  This  aphorism  may  be  true  with 
certain  social  conventionalities  and  pretensions,  but  it  is 
viciously  false  with  regard  to  the  deepest  laws  of  life. 
Nature  is  too  unitary  and  continuous  to  permit  it  to  be 
true.  The  present  is  born  of  the  past  and  the  past  abides 
in  the  present,  and  to  understand  the  present  we  must 
appreciate  the  past.  That  is  the  excuse  of  the  two  fore- 
going chapters,  which,  although  they  may  be  but  rough 
sketches,  surely  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  child  is  the 
product  of  a  most  remote  and  remarkable  antiquity. 

How  far  back  we  trace  this  pedigree  is  a  matter  of  taste. 
Surely  we  are  descended  from  the  neolithic  Europeans  who 
lived  over  a  score  of  millenniums  ago,  and  these  in  turn  were 
descended  from  paleolithic  ancestors  who  chipped  rough 
stone  implements  for  some  three  hundred  thousand  years. 
And  if  we  add  the  vague  eolithic  period,  we  may  say  that 
the  span  of  man's  distinctly  human  sojourn  on  this  earth 
measures  a  half  million  years.  Some  would  multiply  this 
by  two,  and  if  we  include  the  postulated  Miocene  precursor 
of  man,  we  shall  have  to  multiply  by  five  or  six,  or  even 
more.  The  zoologist,  of  course,  does  not  stop  even  here. 
He  tries  to  reconstruct  the  whole  tree  of  life,  assigning  to 
the  different  branches  and  heights  of  the  main  stem  a  defi- 
nite geological  age.  The  tracks  of  worms  are  found  in  rocks 
which  we  know  are  scores  of  millions  of  years  old.  The 

61 


62  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

evolutionist  is  sure  of  our  genetic  relationship  with  these 
same  Pre-Cambrian  worms.  The  fish  is  certainly  a  zoological 
descendant  of  the  aquatic  worm.  A  student  of  Haeckel  has 
calculated  that  the  number  of  generations  which  lie  between 
the  lowest  fish  and  man  is  fifty  millions.  To  be  unconscious 
of  this  tremendous  range  of  prehuman  and  human  existence 
is  never  to  have  realized  the  comprehensiveness  compacted 
in  the  present. 

Comparative  anatomy  has  worked  out  with  surprising 
success,  organ  for  organ,  our  minute  and  gross  structural 
similarity  to  the  lower  animals.  The  psychologist  and  teacher 
are,  however,  chiefly  interested  in  the  comparative  facts 
which  relate  to  consciousness  and  behavior.  There  is  psychic 
heredity  as  well  as  physical  heredity.  In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  dog,  horse,  sheep,  goat,  cow,  and  pig  have  been  domes- 
ticated since  primitive  neolithic  times,  they  still  betray 
tendencies  and  modes  of  behavior  which  belong  peculiarly 
to  their  feral  state.  Dr.  Louis  Robinson  has  written  a  charm- 
ing book  on  the  wild  traits  of  the  domesticated  animals,  which 
man  has  tamed  but  not  completely  transformed. 

The  dog  before  he  lies  down  to  sleep,  it  may  be  on  a 
parlor  carpet,  turns  about  in  an  idiotic  circle,  as  though  he 
were  still  a  Miocene  wolf  and  had  to  trample  down  a  bed 
of  grass  and  weeds.  The  western  horse  bucks,  shakes  and 
puts  down  his  head  as  though  the  saddle  on  his  back  were 
really  a  clutching  panther  and  had  to  be  shaken  off.  The 
cow  secretes  her  newborn  calf  in  the  tall  growth  of  meadow, 
as  though  she  were  still  living  in  the  age  of  fear.  The  in- 
dependence, sure-f  ootedness,  caution,  obstinacy,  and  unshak- 
able nerves  of  the  donkey  and  goat  date  back  to  an  ancient, 
self-reliant  life  in  the  mountains.  The  angry  ewe  stamps 
her  feet  when  approached  by  a  dog,  who  looks  much  like  a 
wolf  to  her,  and  this  is  "  a  remnant  of  an  old  killing  activity." 


INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION  63 

The  greediness,  grunt,  squeal,  keen  scent,  and  expert  snake- 
destruction  powers  of  the  pig  are  reminiscent  of  the  grega- 
rious wild-boar  days  in  the  lowlands. 

There  are  decided  differences  in  the  mentality  and  atti- 
tudes of  dog  and  cat.  The  tribe  of  tigers  belongs  to  the 
solitary  animals  who  depend  fpr  survival  upon  individual 
cunning,  ferocity,  and  prowess.  Inasmuch  as  the  house 
cat  traces  her  lineage  to  the  tiger  family,  Robinson  has 
boldly  asserted  that  she  lacks  the  capacities  for  companion- 
ship so  well  developed  in  the  dog,  who  for  centuries  lived 
the  social  life  of  the  pack  and  there  learned  the  rudiments 
of  helpfulness,  loyalty,  and  sensitiveness.  The  cat,  to  be  sure, 
loves  to  rub  against  you,  and  to  nestle  in  your  arms,  which 
serve  for  a  snug  crotch.  But  perhaps  she  regards  you  in 
her  dim  way  as  nothing  but  a  specially  comfortable  peri- 
patetic tree.  The  dog,  however,  regards  the  household  as 
he  did  the  old  wolf  pack,  and  the  master  as  the  benevolent 
leader  of  the  pack  ;  hence  all  the  faithfulness,  sympathy,  and 
affection  which  have  made  him  the  favorite  of  pets.  A  dog 
cannot  help  but  be  cynomorphic  in  his  mentality  and  atti- 
tude. To  interpret  even  his  comparatively  simple  psychology 
we  must  take  account  of  the  past,  for  the  wild  survives  in 
the  tame  and  the  past  in  the  present. 

Can  it  be  otherwise  with  the  child  ?  Childhood  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  simple,  undifferentiated  period  of  plastic- 
ity or  imperfection.  If  the  modern  facts  of  heredity  point 
to  anything,  it  is  that  childhood  is  charged  with  the  propen- 
sities of  the  past.  And  these  propensities  all  have  a  history 
and  significance,  which  the  following  survey  of  the  human 
instincts  will  try  to  suggest. 

Instincts  are  inborn  propensities  or  modes  of  behavior 
common  to  the  species.  They  are  as  innate  and  characteris- 
tic as  peculiarities  of  structure.  They  belong  to  the  creature 


64  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

as  much  as  his  claws  or  his  snout,  and  are  as  essential 
for  his  survival ;  for  structure  and  function  are  inseparable, 
and  instincts  furnish  the  impulses  which  impel  the  crea- 
ture to  use  his  organs  for  self  and  species  perpetuation. 

There  is  no  sudden  or  dramatic  appearance  of  instinct  in 
the  animal  kingdom,  no  satisfactory  theory  of  the  method 
of  its  origin.  Even  plants  have  definite  modes  of  behavior 
in  the  presence  of  light,  gravity,  moisture,  etc.,  called  tro- 
pisms.  These  very  elementary  adjustments  with  reference 
to  stimuli  are  essential^  physicochemical  in  nature,  ac- 
cording to  Loeb,  who  thinks  that  tropisms  explain  many 
reactions  in  animals  as  well  as  in  plants.  These  tropisms,  or 
their  equivalent,  stand  for  a  type  of  behavior  more  primitive 
than  instinct.  With  the  evolution  of  a  nervous  system  defi- 
nite instincts  associated  with  distinct  cravings  finally  are 
differentiated  to  displace,  or  possibly  supplement,  the  tro- 
pisms. At  first  the  instincts  are  simple,  few,  and  intermit- 
tent. With  advance  in  the  animal  scale  they  multiply,  and 
man  has  a  larger  complement  than  any  of  his  forebears,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  he  cannot  escape  his  accumulated 
inheritance.  A  rough  classification  of  his  many  instincts 
distributes  them  into  four  or  five  groups. 

I.  The  self-preservative  instincts.  Self-preservation  is  the 
first  law  of  nature,  and  the  most  fundamental  instincts  are 
those  which  most  directly  enforce  this  law.  Hunger  and 
thirst  and  the  pant  for  breath  are  the  deepest  of  all  cravings, 
but  they  are  not  the  sole  expression  of  the  primordial  food 
quest.  Out  of  the  securing  and  defending  of  food  supplies 
grew  a  more  generalized  desire  to  have  and  to  hold,  now 
called  the  proprietary  instinct.  This  is  one  of  the  most  pro- 
tean impulses,  and  colors  in  ways  innumerable  both  child 
and  adult  behavior.  It  would  almost  seem  that  instinct,  like 
matter,  is  imperishable,  and  that  man  retains  all  the  past 


INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION  65 

momentum  of  this  impulse  to  gain  something,  assimilate  it, 
and  make  it  his  own.  This  instinct  used  to  go  out  to  food 
alone ;  now  it  goes  out  to  all  sorts  of  things,  material  and 
immaterial. 

A  special  form  of  the  proprietary  instinct  is  hoarding,  and 
closely  related  to  this  is  collecting,  an  instinct  which  seizes 
upon  almost  every  boy  or  girl,  and  never  altogether  dies 
out.  It  begins  before  the  kindergarten  age  with  the  collec- 
tion of  knickknacks,  stones,  leaves,  etc.,  and  mounts  high 
about  the  age  of  ten.  The  interest  in  collection  burns  so 
strong  and  is  often  so  spontaneous  that  it  can  only  be  ac- 
counted for  by  an  intensity  enjoyed  in  earlier  racial  devel- 
opment. Hunting  and  migrating,  both  in  animals  and  in 
primitive  man,  are  obviously  associated  with  the  feeding 
instinct.  To  this  day  truancy  seems  to  vary  with  the  nutri- 
tion of  the  body,  and  with  the  season  of  the  year.  And  the 
peculiar  zest  with  which  a  boy  uses  a  bow  and  arrow,  gun 
or  fishing  rod,  the  consuming  interest  with  which  he  stalks 
his  prey,  suggest  the  survival  of  ancestral  life  values. 

Locomotion  is  as  fundamental  as  feeding  itself,  and,  of 
course,  closely  related  to  it.  The  manner  in  which  the 
powers  of  locomotion  develop  in  the  child  strongly  indicates 
that  the  race  did  not  always  walk  erect.  The  newborn  babe 
can  clasp  a  stick  with  strength  enough  in  hands  and  arms 
to  suspend  its  whole  weight  for  several  moments.  In  arbo- 
real life  a  babe  must  cling  to  the  climbing  mother.  Hands 
and  arms,  therefore,  precede  the  development  of  the  legs. 
All  hand-grasping  is  at  first  clumsy,  but  in  about  three 
months  a  baby  can  oppose  the  thumb  to  the  finger,  a  power 
which,  by  the  way,  the  race  did  not  always  have.  Before 
the  end  of  the  first  year  the  child  usually  shows  instinctive 
right-handedness.  There  are  distinguishable  stages  in  the 
assumption  of  the  erect  posture.  First  the  head  is  held  up ; 


66  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

then  when  the  appropriate  nerve  centers  ripen,  the  baby 
insists  on  sitting  up.  Next  he  rolls  or  hitches,  humps, 
crawls  or  creeps.  Climbing  also  appears  before  he  walks. 
This  uncontrollable  tendency  to  climb,  Miss  Amy  Tanner 
regards  as  "  a  genuine  instinct  dating  back  to  the  time  when 
men  lived  chiefly  in  trees,  when  strength  of  arm  and  grasp 
were  essential  to  life."  She  thinks  that  direct  harm  must 
come  from  undue  repression  of  this  instinct. 

But  life,  even  with  the  lower  animals,  is  more  than  a 
matter  of  food  supply.  There  are  dangerous  things  and 
fellow  creatures  to  avoid  or  overcome.  Out  of  these  dangers 
spring  fear  and  fight.  The  fearing  instincts  are  perhaps 
the  more  primitive,  for  it  is  easier  to  avoid  than  to  over- 
come. Recall  the  untold  centuries  in  which  man  lived  in 
insecurity,  and  it  is  easy  to  understand  why  a  considerable 
and  often  extreme  capacity  of  fear  should  survive  in  child 
hood.  Any  strange,  sudden,  or  overpowering  object  inspires 
the  sense  of  helplessness,  dread,  or  terror,  and  mildly  or 
profoundly  disturbs  circulation,  breathing,  and  gland  secre- 
tion. Trembling,  pallor,  fleeing,  crouching,  hiding,  and  cold 
sweat  are  natural  reactions  at  least  partially  explainable  on 
an  evolutionary  basis.  Many  fears  are,  of  course,  acquired, 
but  often  specific  fears,  such  as  the  fear  of  large  eyes,  of  fur, 
and  of  big  teeth,  come  so  early  in  babyhood  as  to  seem  purely 
inborn.  Statistics  show  that  the  most  numerous  children's 
fears  are  of  thunder  and  lightning,  strange  persons,  beasts, 
the  weather,  and  the  elements.  Baslifulness  is  an  extremely 
interesting  manifestation  of  fear.  All  children  have  some 
general  fund  of  inherited  timidity,  dread,  caution,  and  awe 
worth  observing  and  educating. 

The  typical  preyed-upon  fauna  have  chiefly  fear  in  their 
composition.  It  is  in  their  powerful  and  ferocious  enemies 
that  the  pugnacious  instincts  are  pronounced.  But  the 


INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION  67 

history  of  anger  is  ancient.  Animals  so  zoologically  old  as 
the  fish  and  the  frog  will  show  fight.  An  absolutely  anger- 
less  normal  child  is  inconceivable.  Even  deficient  children, 
in  whom  so  many  instincts  and  capacities  are  lacking, 
frequently  retain  a  great  deal  of  temper,  because  anger  is 
so  deep-seated  in  the  race.  The  instinctive  expressions  and 
special  manifestations  of  fighting,  such  as  gnashing,  jaw 
tension,  fist  clenching,  stamping,  striking,  teasing,  bullying, 
and  cruelty,  point  to  its  ancient  association  with  the  preser- 
vation of  self  and  the  destruction  of  others.  But  since  in 
man  we  do  not  expect  instincts  always  to  survive  in  their 
original  drastic  brutality,  we  may  look  for  the  fight  instinct 
in  such  temperamental  characteristics  as  self-assertion, 
domination,  executiveness,  forcefulness,  etc.  Some  chil- 
dren seem  to  have  more  fear  than  fight  in  their  natures. 
Many  of  their  traits  depend  upon  hereditary  endowment 
in  kind  and  degree  of  instincts.  -  Character  is  not  only  a 
bundle  of  habits  but  also  a  bundle  of  instincts. 

II.  The  Mating  and  Parental  Instincts.  The  second  group 
of  instincts  comprises  those  which  cluster  about  the  pro- 
duction of  offspring  to  perpetuate  the  species,  which  is  of 
more  concern  to  nature  than  the  preservation  of  the  indi- 
vidual. Deeply  implanted,  therefore,  are  the  instincts  of 
mating,  and  in  higher  animals  special  instincts  of  courtship, 
coyness,  and  sexual  jealousy. 

Jane  Addams,  in  discussing  The  Quest  for  Adventure, 
gives  candid  recognition  to  these  instinctive  factors  in  human 
conduct.  Speaking  of  the  two  elemental  appetites  behind 
"  the  activities  of  primitive  man  and  his  uncivilized  succes- 
sors," she  says :  "The  first  drove  him  to  the  search  for  food, 
the  hunt  developing  into  war  with  neighboring  tribes,  and 
finally  broadening  into  barter  and  modern  commerce ;  the 
second  urged  him  to  secure  and  protect  a  mate,  developing 


68  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

into  domestic  life,  widening  into  the  building  of  homes  and 
cities,  into  the  cultivation  of  the  arts  and  a  care  for  beauty." 

This  fine  statement  shows  how  the  so-called  lower  and 
blind  instincts  may  be  transmuted  into  higher  attitudes  and 
sentiments.  There  never  can  be  absolute  repression ;  it  is 
always  a  problem  of  expression,  for  the  old  instincts  are 
the  raw  material  of  all  energy.  The  healthy  sexual  develop- 
ment of  the  young,  both  in  its  physiological  and  psycho- 
logical phases,  is  coming  to  be  of  more  critical  and  frank 
concern  with  sociologists  and  educators.  Primary  school- 
teachers should  appreciate  that  the  problem  begins  before 
the  period  of  adolescence. 

In  this  sphere,  behavior  rises  above  the  plane  of  brute 
egoism.  The  germ  of  all  love  can  be  sought  in  the  rude 
and  transitory  impulses  which  bring  offspring  into  the 
world  and  protect  them  in  their  helplessness.  With  ascent 
in  the  animal  scale,  the  period  of  infant  helplessness  in- 
creases and  parental  sympathy  is  correspondingly  prolonged 
and  deepened.  Homes  are  built  to  shelter  the  family ; 
jealous  rage  flares  up  in  the  protecting  parent,  and  in  the 
lick,  nestle,  and  caress  are  hidden  tenderness.  Indeed,  the 
taproot  of  our  moral  sentiment  has  been  traced  to  parental 
sympathy.  Here  also  is  the  germ  of  altruism,  which  in  the 
human  extends  beyond  the  narrow  limits  of  the  family,  and 
may  embrace  the  whole  community.  In  social  reformers 
and  the  great  teachers  it  sometimes  extends  to  distant  and 
foreign  peoples,  to  the  whole  world,  and  even  to  generations 
unborn.  Doll  play  and  the  rearing  and  caring  for  pets 
constitute  a  childish  fore-expression  of  the  parental  instinct. 
From  this  instinct  teaching  and  other  social  welfare  work 
get  much  of  their  motivation. 

III.  The  social  instincts.  Even  in  the  world  of  the  lower 
animals  the  individual  and  the  family  are  not  all.  There 


INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION  69 

are  larger  social  groups,  —  the  flock,  swarm,  pack,  the  herd. 
If  man  is  preeminently  a  social  animal,  it  is  because  he 
has  been  preceded  by  a  long  line  of  gregarious  ancestors. 
Gregariousness,  or  herding,  is  probably  the  most  funda- 
mental of  the  social  instincts,  for  it  is  this  which  keeps  the 
groups  cohesive,  gives  the  individual  a  dim  consciousness 
of  kind,  and  causes  him  to  suffer  a  sort  of  nostalgia  when 
detached.  Galton  has  given  us  a  brilliant  description  of 
the  sociability  of  the  South  African  ox :  "  When  separated 
from  his  herd,  he  exhibits  every  sign  of  mental  agony,  and 
...  he  becomes  a  prey  to  the  extremest  terror.  He  strives 
with  all  his  might  and  main  to  get  back,  and  when  he  suc- 
ceeds he  plunges  into  the  middle,  to  bathe  his  whole  body 
with  the  comfort  of  closest  companionship."  In  children  we 
should  call  it  cuddling  up. 

But  simple  gregariousness  does  not  insure  a  Utopian 
commonwealth.  With  animals,  as  with  men,  group  life 
favors  a  new  kind  of  social  selfishness  and  self-assertion. 
Instincts  of  rivalry,  deception,  showing  off,  and  jealousy  arose 
under  competitive  conditions  in  animal  communities,  and 
were  much  accentuated  by  the  social  institutions  of  both 
barbarous  and  civilized  man.  Extreme  self-aggrandizement, 
however,  would  destroy  the  very  existence  of  the  social 
groups,  and  so,  in  innumerable  ways,  counterbalancing 
instincts  of  sympathy  and  cooperation  arose  beside  the 
aggressive  traits.  Kropotkin  has  filled  a  whole  volume 
with  examples  in  proof  of  his  thesis  that  "  mutual  aid  is  a 
factor  in  evolution  on  a  par  with  mutual  struggle."  These 
mutual  aid  instincts  were  so  early  developed  that  com- 
munistic ownership,  according  to  Letourneau,  prevailed 
among  primitive  people.  School  and  society  are  trying  to 
favor  the  expression  of  these  instincts  of  mutual  aid,  which 
came  late  in  racial  history  and  need  encouragement. 


70  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

Social  life  favors  language.  Expressiveness,  both  in  ges- 
tures and  cries,  varies  with  sociability.  Animals  possess  the 
rudiments  of  language  in  common  with  man,  —  the  reflex 
cries  of  emotion,  the  rude  interjections  of  fear,  rage,  alarm, 
the  grunts  of  disgust,  etc.  With  the  higher  mammals  and 
apes  the  vocabulary  of  these  language-cries  numbers  scores 
and  even  hundreds.  Haeckel  thinks  that  there  was  anciently 
a  Homo  alalus;  but  even  this  most  primitive  man,  who  pre- 
ceded Homo  sapiens,  must  have  had  the  gesture  and  interjec- 
tional  language  from  which  articulate  speech  finally  emerged. 
The  mobility  of  lips,  tongue,  and  laryngeal  muscles,  and, 
perhaps,  right-handedness,  favored  increasing  subtlety  in 
articulation,  which  did  more  than  anything  else  to  raise  man 
above  his  pristine  compeers. 

Underlying  the  instincts  of  mutual  aid  is  the  instinct  of 
docility,  the  natural  tendency  to  obey  leaders  and  the  ex- 
ample of  others.  This  is  a  very  broad  trait  in  human 
nature,  almost  indistinguishable  in  its  rudimentary  form 
from  passive  plasticity  or  habituation.  But  it  has  an  active 
expression  as  denoted  by  the  word  "  obedience."  This  obedi- 
ence is  at  first  reflex,  and  as  mechanical  as  the  following- 
instinct  in  sheep.  But  in  man  the  instincts  do  not  preserve 
their  primal  simplicity;  they  become  overlaid  with  other 
instincts,  and  with  ideas,  concepts,  and  ideals.  This  primi- 
tive obedience  is  transformed  by  love  and  fear  into  all 
grades  and  manners  of  reverence  and  awe,  —  hero  worship, 
God  and  nature  worship,  respect  for  law,  and  many  special 
attitudes  toward  the  beautiful,  the  scientific,  and  the  good, 
which,  if  not  instincts,  are  in  origin  instinctive. 

IV.  Play  instincts.  The  above  instincts,  comprehensive  as 
the  list  is,  only  partially  account  for  the  impulses  of  human 
conduct,  and  do  not  explain  its  development  and  many-sided 
adaptiveness.  There  is  a  very  important  group  of  instincts 


INSTINCT  AND  EELAXATION  71 

(if  the  term  is  to  be  preserved)  which  are  fundamentally 
developmental  and  "  adaptive  "  in  character,  — instincts  so 
generic  that  they  underlie,  overlay,  modify,  inhibit,  rehearse, 
extend,  conserve,  and  exercise  the  other  instincts.  These 
are  the  instinct-tendencies  of  self-activity  and  relaxation. 

Play  is  the  generic  instinct  of  spontaneous  self-activity. 
Froebel  appreciated  play.  The  plays  of  childhood,  he  said, 
"  spring  from  inner  impulse  and  necessity,"  and  are  "  the 
germinal  leaves  of  all  later  life."  Schiller  and  Spencer 
speak  of  play  as  the  expression  of  surplus  energy.  Groos, 
not  content  with  this  limited  conception,  and  feeling  the 
significance  of  Darwin's  work  on  instincts,  made  a  very 
extended  study  of  play  in  man  and  animals.  He  concluded 
that  play  is  not  merely  an  outlet  for  superabundant  energy, 
but  is  nature's  method  of  preparing  the  young  for  the  seri- 
ous occupations  of  maturity.  In  play  the  inherited  impulses 
and  powers  are  exercised,  trained,  prepared.  Play  is  antici- 
patory. G.  Stanley  Hall  believes,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
the  key  to  all  play  activities  lies  in  the  past  and  not  in  the 
future.  Play  for  him  is  reminiscent,  —  "  the  motor  habits 
and  spirit  of  the  race  persisting  in  the  present."  Play  is  so 
protean  that  all  these  views  are  in  a  measure  true.  As 
Russel  has  neatly  said,  "  Play  is  at  once  reminiscent  and 
anticipatory,  a  welding  of  the  future  and  the  past." 

The  sphere  of  play  is  so  intricately  complex  that  it  mocks 
precise  formulations.  Some  plays  do  seem  to  be  chiefly  the 
outlets  for  obstructed  or  overflowing  energy.  Such  are  many 
of  the  random,  sprawling  movements  of  the  well-fed  baby, 
also  rolling,  kicking,  jumping,  romping,  and  "  the  immodest 
runnings  and  horrid  shoutings  "  referred  to  by  a  medieval 
university.  Joyous  laughter  also  falls  here.  These  plays, 
for  want  of  a  better  term,  may  be  called  the  "  plays  of  ex- 
uberance." A  common  characteristic  is  that  they  tingle  with 


72  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

the  feeling  of  well-being,  euphoria,  and  tend  to  be  repetitive 
and  rhythmical,  as  in  laughter  and  skipping  and  dancing. 
Rhythm  lies  very  near  to  play. 

Closely  related  is  that  play  which  is  chiefly  for  psycho- 
motor  exercise,  like  sliding,  teetering,  dragging,  hustling, 
tossing,  balancing,  tumbling,  rocking,  and  much  of  the  per- 
sistent play  with  the  senses  and  motor  apparatus.  In  these 
plays  it  seems  to  be  nature's  main  intent  to  train  the  powers 
of  perception  and  movement. 

Another  group  of  plays  and  many  games  are  more  par- 
ticularly recapitulatory  in  character,  definitely  suggestive 
of  prehuman  and  prehistoric  activities.  Such  are  the  plays 
of  hiding,  daring,  fighting,  hurling,  hunting;  of  strategy, 
climbing,  chasing,  shooting,  collecting,  hoarding,  exploring, 
camping,  caring  for  flowers,  plants,  and  pets;  also  the 
absorbing  interest  in  the  heroic  and  stirring  stories  of  com- 
bat, f ear,,  and  cunning.  In  these  plays  and  interests  we  feel 
most  fully  and  intensely  ancestral  joys,  and  G.  Stanley  Hall 
thinks  that  "the  pleasure  is  always  exactly  proportional 
to  the  directness  and  force  of  the  current  of  heredity." 

Imitation  is  bound  up  with  play.  It  has  been  said  that 
the  child  cannot  live  life,  so  he  must  play  it.  Here  the  word 
"play"  is  used  almost  synonymously  with  "dramatic  imita- 
tion." A  vast  amount  of  play  tends  to  be  imitative  ;  and  this 
is  one  of  the  best  arguments  for  Groos's  contention  that  play 
is  the  means  of  preparing  for  future  serious  activity.  For 
the  dramatic  and  imitative  plays  of  children  surely  initiate 
them  into  the  situations  and  problems  of  adult  life :  doll  play 
initiates  into  domestic  life,  playing  store  into  commercial, 
playing  war  into  military,  etc.  The  dramatic  tendency  of 
play  can  be  used  by  the  teacher  not  only  to  bring  the  child 
into  a  consciousness  of  his  future  problems,  but  also  into 
an  appreciation  of  literature  and  history. 


INSTINCT  AND  KELAXATION  73 

The  most  extensive,  pervasive,  and  fundamental  type  of 
play  is  workmanship.  Since  precise  classification  is  almost 
hopeless  in  the  field  of  play,  "workmanship"  may  well  be 
used  as  a  blanket  term  to  cover  all  those  aggressive  im- 
pulses which  spring  from  a  spontaneous  desire  to  trans- 
form physical  things  or  mental  content,  —  in  a  word,  all 
self-prompted  attention  and  doing  which  have  for  their 
object  the  pleasure  of  a  new  achievement,  a  new  experience. 
Workmanship,  therefore,  includes  practically  all  experi- 
mentation, manipulation,  constructiveness,  destructiveness, 
and,  on  the  more  purely  mental  side,  playful  imagination, 
daydreaming,  and  curiosity.  Curiosity  has  been  well  called 
the  play  of  the  attention.  Much  that  seems  old  and  easy 
to  us  is  virgin  to  the  child,  and  a  large  part  of  his  play  has 
a  pioneering,  exploiting  character.  Typical  expressions  of 
workmanship  play  are  the  productive  and  receptive  experi- 
mentation with  the  senses  mentioned  by  Groos,  and  all 
forms  of  manipulation  like  building  with  blocks,  shoving 
and  hustling  things  about,  mussing  paper,  digging  in  the 
sand,  molding  mud,  tearing  things  and  knocking  them  down, 
spontaneous  drawing,  etc.  The  list  is  really  interminable. 

When  the  materials  of  life  cease  to  be  blocks  and  sand 
piles,  when  all  childish  play  is  outgrown,  workmanship 
may  still  exert  its  force,  giving  figurativeness  and  humor 
to  language,  little  touches  of  adventure  and  originality  to 
the  daily  behavior,  and  now  and  then  true  creativeness  to 
thought  and  deeds.  Workmanship  is  at  the  base  of  all 
adult  originality,  and  the  chief  factor  of  artistic  production. 
There  is  an  element  of  constructiveness  and  creativeness  in 
all  workmanship,  while  the  other  distinguishable  forms  of 
play  are  reminiscent,  rhythmical,  or  imitative,  —  the  out- 
lets for  exuberance  or  the  means  of  exercise.  Workmanship 
clearly  corresponds  to  that  sphere  of  behavior  which  Royce 


74  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

calls  initiative.  Veblen  speaks  of  it  as  "  the  ubiquitous 
impulse  to  do  the  next  thing,"  -  —  not  the  same  thing,  but 
something  new. 

It  is  tempting  to  exalt  workmanship  to  the  plane  of  a 
creative  force  in  nature.  Without  it  man  surely  could  not 
have  risen  to  his  present  position,  and  it  is  the  impulse 
which  makes  for  growth  in  the  individual.  The  happiness 
and  the  originality  of  any  person,  whether  child  or  adult, 
depend  very  much  upon  the  full  expression  of  this  generic 
play  instinct.  Artists  well  fed  and  well  housed,  who  are 
free  to  project  all  that  surges  within,  are  of  all  people  the 
most  enviable.  The  great  tragedy  of  school  and  society  is 
the  suffocation  of  the  creative  instinct  of  workmanship 
by  a  formal  and  thwarting  environment.  The  problem  of 
pedagogy  and  politics  is  to  so  reshape  life  that  all  the  latent 
sprightliness,  plasticity,  geniality,  and  creativeness  of  chil- 
dren and  of  men  and  women  will  come  to  their  fullness. 

One  of  the  chapters  of  Helen  Key's  famous  book,  "  The 
Century  of  the  Child,"  is  entitled  The  Soul  Murder  of  the 
Schools.  Most  of  the  repressiveness  of  the  workmanship 
instinct  which  amounts  to  soul  murder  comes  from  a  great 
undefinable,  uncombatable  fog,  which  will  not  dissipate 
until  there  is  something  like  a  regeneration  and  rejuvenation 
of  the  whole  schoolroom  atmosphere.  Two  of  the  most  tan- 
gible enemies  of  workmanship  which  can  be  combated  are 
habit  and  imperfect  health. 

Habit  has  been  amply  praised,  but  insufficiently  de- 
preciated. However  necessary  and  beneficial,  habit  is  a 
double-edged  sword.  It  makes  for  mechanism,  routine, 
delimitation,  archaism.  It  compels  the  traveler  of  life  to 
take  only  familiar,  automatic  journeys,  and  puts  an  end  to 
all  pioneering  and  discovery.  Habit  tends  to  destroy  the 
very  plasticity  which  gave  it  birth.  With  the  encroachment 


INSTINCT  AND  KELAXATION  75 

of  routine's  prison  walls,  the  deeper,  older  voices  of  the 
play  spirit  fade  away,  and  childhood  with  its  buoyancy  be- 
comes something  to  fondly  and  sadly  gaze  back  upon ;  or, 
in  the  most  pathetic  cases,  habit  becomes  such  a  tyranni- 
cal master  of  life  that  the  vivacity  of  youth  when  seen  in 
another  is  actually  painful. 

The  other  foe  of  workmanship  is  undervitality,  insuffi- 
cient health.  Workmanship  has  been  called  a  tendency  to 
display  energy.  Plants  are  sessile  organisms,  which  do  not 
bestir  themselves ;  but  in  the  amoeba  we  find  something 
akin  to  workmanship,  —  a  fund  of  self -activity  which  varies 
with  the  amount  of  food  and  rest.  With  the  evolution  of 
the  nervous  system  this  available  fund  of  energy  tends  to 
increase.  One  of  the  most  marked  and  important  traits  in 
Peter  —  to  recall  our  monkey  with  a  mind  — -  is  his  cease- 
less activity,  his  tireless  experimentation.  Before  the  psycho- 
logical clinic  he  behaved  like  an  irrepressible,  obstreperous 
boy.  Primitive  man  had  this  same  trait,  but  probably  to  a 
lower  degree  than  modern  man  ;  for  there  are  good  reasons 
for  believing  that  in  the  race  the  instinct  of  workmanship 
has  been  increasing  with  those  changes  in  mode  of  life,  like 
the  adoption  of  cooking,  which  result  in  the  storing  up  of 
energy  beyond  the  lowest  need  of  existence.  One  of  the 
important  factors  in  the  evolution  of  man  undoubtedly  has 
been  the  character  of  his  meals,  their  frequency,  bulk,  and 
food  values.  Workmanship  varies  with  degrees  of  neural 
nutrition.  When  energy  is  at  a  low  tide,  play  does  not 
necessarily  cease,  but  tends  to  express  itself  along  beaten 
and  nonproductive  lines.  The  favoring  conditions  for  the 
free  spirit  of  workmanship  are  good  nutrition,  rest,  and 
the  abundant  energy  of  abounding  health.  The  best,  most 
wholesome,  and  creative  things  of  the  world  burst  forth 
from  such  accumulations  of  energy.  It  cannot  be  otherwise, 


76  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

for  physical  health  is  too  closely  identified  with  goodness, 
beauty,  and  insight. 

V.  Relaxation  Reflexes.  Nature  has  her  own  lawful  limi- 
tations. All  life  oscillates  rhythmically  between  two  poles, 
—  activity  and  rest.  Workmanship  represents  the  wave  of 
energy  at  its  crest ;  sleep  is  the  hollow  of  the  wave.  Relax- 
ation is  as  natural,  if  not  as  instinctive,  as  activity  itself. 
We  are  accustomed  to  regard  sleep  as  a  kind  of  "  temporary 
death,"  a  negative  and  annulling  affair ;  but  Claparede  has 
recently  well  emphasized  its  positive  aspects.  He  speaks  of 
it  as  an  innate  tendency  of  inhibition,  developed  by  natural 
selection.  It  is  not  merely  a  vegetative  function,  but  a 
definite,  positive  mode  of  behavior,  biological  as  well  as 
physiological  in  import.  Sleep  has,  of  course,  a  deeply  phys- 
iological, if  not  chemical,  character ;  but  so  has  hunger,  and 
if  we  call  one  instinctive,  why  not  the  other  ?  There  has 
been  no  objection  to  calling  hibernation  in  the  lower  ani- 
mals instinct.  There  is  also  a  very  biological  kind  of  human 
hibernation  which  goes  on  in  the  province  of  Pskov,  Russia. 
The  poor  peasants  are  said  to  lie  down  in  their  beds  with 
a  bottle  of  water  and  a  few  loaves  of  bread,  and  to  sleep 
and  nibble  till  the  coming  of  spring,  when  they  rise  to  plow 
the  softening  soil  once  more.  Our  ordinary  sleep  is  daily 
hibernation. 

Sleep,  therefore,  has  the  following  earmarks  of  instinct : 
it  is  a  fixed,  inborn,  protective  reaction,  common  to  the 
species,  and  can  be  decidedly  modified  through  the  influ- 
ence of  habit.  But  whether  instinct  or  not,  relaxation  is  a 
generic  form  of  adaptation  not  to  be  ignored  in  any  survey 
of  behavior.  The  positive  and  compensatory  value  of  rest 
is  only  now  coming  to  be  recognized.  Rest  is  not  alone  for 
recuperation ;  it  is  a  protective  type  of  adjustment.  Our 
natural  behavior  has  its  basis  in  an  intricate  interrelated 


INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION  77 

plexus  -of  instincts.  Some  reenforce  each  other,  but  many 
have  an  antagonistic  value.  Thus  curiosity  may  be  con- 
sidered an  antidote  of  fear,  jealousy  of  sympathy,  and  cau- 
tion a  counterpoise  of  competition.  Sleep  and  other  forms 
of  relaxation,  similarly,  are  compensating  and  counterbal- 
ancing adaptations  to  prevent  the  overexpression  or  dis- 
integration of  the  assertive  instincts.  If  anger  and  all  the 
other  instinctive  responses  were  evolved  through  natural 
selection,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  sleep  grew  up  in  the  same 
manner.  A  quixotic  fund  of  any  instinct  would  be  harmful. 
Workmanship  without  sleep  would  be  ruinous. 

Chamberlain  has  shown  that  primitive  man  and  men  of 
genius  naturally,  let  us  say  instinctively,  alternate  periods 
of  strenuous  exertion  with  prolonged  periods  of  lounging 
stupidity.  It  is  just  as  innate  to  lounge  as  it  is  to  strive, 
to  relax  as  it  is  to  exert.  Inattention  is  as  important  and 
developmental  as  attention,  assimilation  as  necessary  as 
impression.  Rest  is  the  period  of  assimilation,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  safeguard  against  overexertion.  The  mastery 
of  the  fine  art  of  life  demands  not  only  the  nourishment 
of  instinctive  ambition,  but  the  cultivation  of  rhythmical, 
adequate  repose. 

The  enlightened  teacher  will,  therefore,  in  a  systematic 
manner,  cultivate  relaxation  in  her  pupils.  She  will  take 
a  constructive  and  not  a  sensitive  attitude  toward  inatten- 
tion. Much  of  the  school's  inattention  is  attention  to  some- 
thing else,  but  in  young  children  there  are  many  periods 
of  reflex,  instinctive  brown  study,  in  which  the  attention 
is  diffused,  dispersed,  —  momentary  cat  naps.  These  have 
a  biological,  hygienic  import,  and  ought  to  be  cultivated 
rather  than  combated.  If  teachers  had  absolute  sway  over 
the  attention  of  children,  too  many  would  become  priggish 
little  adults.  The  German  professor  was  three-fourths  right, 


78  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

who  said  that  the  universal  inattention  of  children  is  a 
natural  safeguard  against  poor  pedagogy.  Good  pedagogy 
would  respect  rest  as  much  as  activity.  There  should  be 
rest  periods  as  well  as  busy  periods.  Nature  fills  up  many 
of  the  busy  periods  in  the  school  with  a  pernicious  dawdling 
and  pretension  of  business,  or  a  spreading  it  thin  over  a 
long  period.  If  we  were  really  interested  in  healthful  ac- 
tivity, we  should  permit  sheer  idleness  for  one  half  of  the 
busy  period,  and  put  a  premium  on  getting  the  job  honestly 
and  vigorously  done  in  the  fraction  of  time  left. 

There  is  a  peculiar  form  of  inattention  which  frequently 
crops  out  under  the  discipline  of  church,  school,  and  supper 
table, — giggling.  If  we  could  dignify  this  unseemly  con- 
duct with  the  terminology  of  science,  we  should  call  it  a 
psychophysical  relaxation,  adaptive  in  function,  superven- 
ing in  situations  of  stress,  when  the  attention  processes  have 
been  unduly  tensed !  Students  describing  their  own  gig- 
gling experiences  said  that  these  experiences  were  especially 
liable  to  occur  in  an  atmosphere  of  unnatural  seriousness, 
or  when  tired  mentally  from  protracted  attention,  or  from 
much  obedience  to  commands ;  when  threatened  with  disci- 
pline, and  when  physically  weary  or  nervous.  Sometimes 
a  superabundance  of  animal  spirits  favors  giggling,  but  in 
any  case  it  is  a  symptom  of  confused,  tired,  or  obstructed 
attention,  and  is  an  organic  method  of  relaxation  and 
relief.  Snickering,  of  course,  is  a  very  primitive  form  of 
humor,  but  the  highest  forms  of  laughter,  and  even  phil- 
osophical humor,  are  grounded  in  a  biological  function  such 
as  has  been  suggested  for  giggling.  A  good  laugh  is  a  most 
effective  form  of  relief.  It  removes  unnatural  tension.  It 
breaks  the  semiparalytic  grasp  of  sulkiness,  flushes  one's 
whole  mental  state,  and  restores  a  sense  of  values.  Half- 
hysterical  laughter  and  silliness  often  follow  or  accompany 


INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION  79 

prolonged  strains,  such  as  sieges,  earthquakes,  court  trials, 
domestic  grief,  and  even  continued  intellectual  effort.  Such 
humor  surely  is  the  avenue  of  relief. 

Sometimes  the  situation  is  so  provokingly  funny  that 
we  roll  on  the  ground  with  sheer  laughter,  or  we  laugh 
until  we  cry.  Indeed,  crying  and  laughter  are  psychological 
and  biological  cousins.  Crying,  like  laughing,  is  a  drastic 
mode  of  relief,  and  there  is  universal  testimony  for  its  re- 
laxing, even  balming  results.  Medical  men  accordingly 
recommend  it  as  having  therapeutic  value. 

Crying,  like  its  relative,  follows  upon  a  surcharged  con- 
dition of  the  nerves,  or  of  mental  tension,  whether  in  anger, 
grief,  or  joy.  Borqvist,  in  his  acute  study  of  the  subject, 
reports  the  case  of  a  person  who  said,  "  Often  when  I  am 
tired  I  have  cried  over  things  that  when  I  am  well  I  will 
laugh  at."  This  confession  betrays  the  close  relation  between 
the  two  reactions ;  but  Borqvist  believes  that  there  is  this 
important  and  fundamental  difference :  "  that  laughing  is 
the  accompaniment  of  movements  that  promote  digestion, 
and  that  crying  is  a  part  of  the  process  which  is  involved 
in  the  act  of  rejection  of  food."  Hence  many  of  the  symp- 
toms of  crying  —  such  as  the  lump  in  the  throat  and  the 
sobbing  spasms  of  the  diaphragm  —  suggest  giving  up  in  a 
digestive  as  well  as  a  psychic  sense.  The  conclusion  is  that 
"  crying,  in  its  last  analysis,  is  a  situation  in  which  there 
has  been  strong  effort  and  depleted  nervous  energy.  It  is 
essentially  a  breakdown,  in  the  nature  of  a  cessation  of 
adaptation  to  environmental  conditions."  But  this  very 
cessation  of  adaptation  is  itself  an  adaptation. 

Crying,  laughter,  silliness,  whining,  giggling,  peevishness, 
sulkiness,  sullenness,  inattention,  and  obstinacy  are  all  re- 
lated phenomena  which  ignorant  common  sense  will  often 
treat  in  an  arbitrary  and  unjust  manner.  What  we  need  is 


80  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

the  biological  and  physician's  insight  to  interpret  them  in 
terms  of  their  connection  with  nature's  inexorable  demands 
for  relaxation  and  relief. 

Obstinacy,  like  crying,  is  an  adaptive  cessation  of  adapta- 
tion. It  is,  of  course,  a  highly  variable  complex,  but  typically 
it  is  an  inhibitory  instinct  comparable  to  other  forms  of  pro- 
tective inaction,  like  the  vacant  mood,  lounging,  and  even 
sleep.  Theodate  Smith,  who  has  instructively  described  the 
psychology  of  obstinacy,  says  that  the  "  one  symptom  invari- 
ably present  in  all  cases  appears  to  be  a  deficiency  of  mus- 
cular control,  either  in  the  form  of  cramp  or  temporary 
paralysis."  This  statement  strongly  implies  that  obstinacy 
has  a  positive  protective  value. 

Why  not  regard  it  as  an  instinctive  antidote  for  docility, 
which  is  itself  instinctive  ?  Obstinacy  is  present  in  animals 
in  the  form  of  balkiness,  which  has  its  "  psychic  roots  in 
the  thwarting  of  instinctive  desires,  in  physical  conditions 
and  overfatigue  of  the  nerve  centers."  These  are  the  very 
stimuli  which  produce  all  forms  of  inattention,  laziness, 
and  sleep.  Obstinacy,  like  other  instincts,  is  aggravated  by 
humidity  and  other  weather  influences.  It  is  characterized 
by  rigidity,  blankness  of  expression,  inertness,  limpness,  and 
other  symptoms  of  "  a  dead-weight  type  of  opposition."  The 
impossibility  of  coddling  or  beating  obstinacy  away  and  its 
response  to  the  letting-alone  treatment  eloquently  suggest 
its  instinctive  and  remedial  character.  It  is  always  part  of 
a  complex,  and  has  a  compensatory  or  counterpoise  signifi- 
cance. It  is  associated  with  the  spirit  of  independence  char- 
acteristic of  solitary,  self-reliant  animals  like  the  donkey ;  it 
appears  frequently  in  feeble-minded  children  who  have  scant 
power  of  attention  and  therefore  would  be  likely  to  balk 
often  ;  and  again,  it  is  common  in  children  of  spirit,  boys  and 
girls  with  the  rebel  in  them.  Nature  always  means  to  keep 


INSTINCT  AND  KELAXATION  81 

a  balance,  and  the  existence  of  institutional  obstinacy  is  a 
hopeful  sign  that  she  has  not  given  even  the  wards  of  prisons, 
schools,  and  asylums  a  ruinous  proportion  of  docility. 

VI.  Work.  There  is  a  kind  of  stubbornness  which  stands 
for  persistence  in  a  purpose  or  cause,  and  this  kind  should 
be  sharply  differentiated  from  inhibitory  obstinacy.  This 
persistency  really  is  an  expression  of  the  instinct  of  work 
rather  than  of  relaxation.  Throughout  a  venerable  pre- 
history man  was  schooled  in  the  lesson  of  diligence.  In 
most  primitive  times  his  impulses  of  workmanship  resulted 
in  merely  desultory  activity,  but  with  the  schooling  of  cen- 
turies this  activity  became  more  and  more  consecutive 
and  purposive.  Workmanship  alone  cannot  account  for 
man's  progress.  Upon  this  instinct  was  built  another  which 
may  be  called  the  instinct  of  perseverance,  —  not  only  doing 
something,  but  persisting  until  the  thing  is  done. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  instinct  of  perseverance, 
or  consecutiveness,  has  been  accumulating;  that  it  was 
much  greater  at  the  close  of  the  paleolithic  period  than  dur- 
ing the  eolithic,  and  that  in  the  metal  ages  it  was  stronger 
still.  In  this  instinctive  persistence  we  must  look  for  the 
root  of  all  the  heroic  labor  of  man  and  his  patient  vigils,  of 
all  his  ambition,  strenuousness,  and  the  terrific  pace  of 
modern  life,  the  sedulousness  and  the  application  which  the 
schools  have  been  nourishing  for  centuries.  Workmanship 
and  perseverance  are  to  each  other  like  play  and  work. 

The  legion  of  instincts  which  we  have  reviewed  repre- 
sent the  deepest  requirements  and  tendencies  of  the  race,  — 
traits  so  fundamental  that  they  are  transmitted  from  gener- 
ation to  generation,  ingrained  in  the  very  structure  of  the 
nervous  system.  Most  of  these  traits  are  geologic  in  their 
venerability.  Childhood  play,  which  involves  so  many  in- 
stincts, is  like  a  processional  in  which  the  prehuman  and 


82  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

human  past  reappears  with  the  ripening  of  successive  nerve 
centers.  Nothing,  therefore,  reflects  so  well  as  spontaneous 
play  the  child's  interests,  if  by  that  term  we  mean  his  own 
requirements  and  tendencies.  The  evolution  of  behavior  in 
the  race  cannot  be  explained  by  intellectual  progress.  All 
development,  both  in  the  child  and  in  the  race,  is  grounded 
in  instinct.  The  pedagogical  principle  based  on  this  con- 
ception is  stated  in  unequivocal  words  by  Dr.  Dewey  :  "  The 
primary  root  of  all  educational  activity  is  in  the  instinc- 
tive, impulsive  attitudes  of  the  child,  and  not  in  the  presen- 
tation and  application  of  external  material."  The  teacher 
who  ignores  this  principle  must  hear  the  parable  of  the 
house  built  on  the  sands. 

All  happiness  and  health  depend,  both  in  childhood  and 
maturity,  upon  the  adequate  expression  of  instincts.  There 
is  hardly  an  instinct  which  must  be  absolutely  repressed. 
Perfection  and  poise  are  the  fruit  not  of  suppression,  but  of 
a  proper  harmonizing  of  all  the  instincts.  The  problem  of 
pedagogy  is  to  give  each  instinct  the  fling  it  needs  in  child- 
hood ;  the  problem  of  the  larger  hygiene  is  to  strike  the 
proper  balance  between  the  instincts  of  activity  and  relaxa- 
tion. Dr.  Burnham  has  stated  the  aim  of  education  to  be 
the  development  of  habits  of  healthful  activity.  No  activity 
can  be  ideally  healthful  which  does  not  have  a  maximum 
efficiency,  and  it  cannot  have  this  maximum  unless  it  is 
generously  offset  by  leisure.  Here  curriculums  and  life 
make  their  greatest  errors.  It  is  high  time  that  the  schools 
should  appreciate  the  existence  and  worth  of  the  benevolent, 
conserving  instincts  of  leisure.  To  use  a  Hibernicism,  leisure 
must  itself  be  considered  a  healthful  form  of  activity.  Ap- 
plication does  not  need  to  be  reenforced  so  much  as  counter- 
poised. We  must  learn  and  teach  the  art  of  leisure.  Real 
growth  and  sanity  demand  relaxation  in  all  its  degrees,  — 


INSTINCT  AND  RELAXATION  83 

slumber,  cat  nap,  lounge,  loaf,  and  listlessness.  It  cannot  be 
doubted  that  the  hygienic  distribution  of  periods  of  rest  and 
activity  would  enormously  increase  the  sweetness  and  pro- 
ductiveness of  mankind.  Poets  have  vied  with  each  other 
in  their  praises  of  sleep,  the  "  sweet  restorer."  Science  is 
indorsing  their  sonnets.  Sleep  is  indeed  the  "  dear  mother 
of  fresh  thought  and  joyous  health." 

This  is  the  gospel  of  relaxation,  and  if  it  is  biologically 
true,  schools  should  obey  it  and  build  upon  the  instincts 
of  relaxation  habits  of  healthful  rest. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  HAND  OF  THE  RACE  AND  OF  THE  CHILD 

About  seventy-five  years  ago,  when  the  Bridgewater 
Treatises  were  being  written  to  prove  the  power,  wisdom, 
and  goodness  of  God  as  manifested  in  creation,  Sir  Charles 
Bell,  in  speaking  of  the  human  hand,  said :  "  It  presents  the 
last  and  best  proof  in  the  order  of  creation  of  that  principle 
of  adaptation  which  evinces  design.  It  is  the  consumma- 
tion of  all  perfection."  Anaxagoras  entertained  the  opin- 
ion that  the  superiority  of  man  was  owing  to  his  hand,  but 
with  this  view  the  reverent  Sir  Charles  Bell  takes  issue. 
"  We  rather  say,  with  Galen,  that  man  has  hands  given  to 
him  because  he  is  the  wisest  of  creatures,  than  to  ascribe 
his  superiority  and  knowledge  to  the  use  of  his  hands." 
Dr.  Robert  MacDougall,  writing  from  the  modern  genetic 
standpoint,  says :  ".  .  .  of  all  bodily  members  the  hand  is 
the  most  human  and  the  most  noble.  In  its  features  and 
capabilities  is  symbolized  all  that  man  has  achieved  in  his 
long  upward  march  from  the  primeval  ooze." 

The  early  worm  dwellers  in  this  ooze  possessed  not  even 
the  rudiment  of  a  hand,  but  the  primitive  fish  who  descended 
from  them  in  all  probability  had  a  pair  of  fin  folds  extend- 
ing laterally  from  head  to  tail  in  the  form  of  continuous 
pleats  in  the  skin.  These  skin  folds  were  the  forerunners 
of  separate  pairs  of  pectoral  and  pelvic  fins,  variously  pro- 
vided with  cartilaginous  rays,  horny  fibers,  and  bony  rods. 
And  these  single-jointed  paddles  in  turn  were  the  fore- 
runners of  the  many-jointed  systems  of  levers  of.  the  later 

84 


THE  HAND  85 

quadrupeds.  The  large  fact  of  descent  is  admitted,  but  the 
details  of  the  transformation  are  not  known.  "  We  do  not 
know,"  says  Wiedersheim  in  his  "  Comparative  Anatomy," 
"  how  the  pentadactyl  limb  of  an  air-breathing  vertebrate, 
adapted  for  progression  upon  land,  has  been  derived  from 
the  fin  only  fitted  for  use  in  the  water,  and  paleontology 
has  so  far  furnished  no  solution  to  this  problem."  The 
significant  fact  is  that  the  fore  limbs  and  hind  limbs  of  all 
vertebrates  above  the  fishes  conform  to  a  single  ground  type. 

The  hand  of  the  race  is  the  terminal  organ  of  the  fore 
limb.  Typically,  it  consists  of  a  group  of  wrist  and  palmar 
bones  attached  to  the  radius  and  ulna,  and  five  digits. 
Even  in  the  amphibia  the  basal  plan  of  the  hand  is  highly 
analogous  to  that  of  the  human.  But  the  amphibian  hand 
is  webbed  and  adapted  only  to  the  humblest  uses.  In  the 
reptiles  the  hand  remains  limited  chiefly  to  the  function  of 
locomotion,  though  in  the  prehistoric  pterosauria  the  fifth 
finger  was  elongated  and  supported  a  winglike  attachment 
for  flying.  In  most  snakes  the  extremities  have  practically 
vanished.  In  birds  the  fore  limbs  are  transformed,  but  not 
beyond  recognition,  for  the  digits  and  sometimes  even  the 
claws  persist  in  the  wings,  as  in  the  archseopteryx  and  a 
few  existing  species. 

In  mammals  the  anterior  extremity  comes  to  serve  al- 
most every  possible  use.  In  the  whale  the  digits  form  the 
frame  of  a  finlike  paddle.  "  Place  drawings  of  the  skel- 
eton of  the  human  hand  and  the  fin  of  a  whale  side  by 
side  and  ordinary  observers  will  require  the  printed  names 
underneath  to  distinguish  them."  In  the  bat  the  digits 
are  produced  into  long  supports  for  a  winged  membrane 
for  flying.  In  the  horse  the  third  digit  is  specialized  into 
a  hard,  rigid  hoof  for  swift  running.  The  paleontological 
ancestor  of  the  horse,  a  little  plantigrade  creature  about 


86 


THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 


the  size  of  a  fox,  had  a  complete  set  of  digits,  two  of  which 
were  to  disappear,  the  other  two  becoming  much  reduced 
before  Quaternary  tunes.  Incidentally  it  is  interesting  to 
know  that  the  embryo  of  the  horse  during  its  development 
passes  through  all  these  phylogenetic  stages.  In  the  bur- 
rowing mammals,  like  the  mole,  the  fore  limbs  are  special- 
ized for  digging;  in  the  arboreal  mammals,  for  grasping 


in 


FIG.  16.   MODIFICATIONS  OF  THE  FORE  LIMBS  (FOR  CRAWLING, 
SWIMMING,  AND  FLIGHT) 

A,  primitive  salamander  (Necturus) ;  B,  extinct  marine  lizard  (Ichthyosau- 
rus) ;    C,  dolphin ;  D,  extinct  flying  reptile  (Pterodactyl) ;  E,  bird ;  F,  bat. 
(From  Wilder 's  "  History  of  the  Human  Body  ") 

and  climbing.  Even  in  the  climbing  marsupials  the  bones 
of  the  forearm,  which  lower  in  the  animal  scale  are  firmly 
connected,  become  articulated,  enabling  the  rotating  move- 
ments of  supination  and  pronation,  so  highly  developed  in 
the  human  forearm. 

Other  modifications  which  have  been  pointed  out  as  neces- 
sary for  the  perfection  of  the  hand  are  the  denudation  of 
the  hair,  the  increased  sensitiveness  of  the  palms  and  fingers, 


THE  HAND  87 

and  the  elimination  of  the  claw.  In  the  lemurs  the  claws 
are  almost  absent,  and  in  the  monkeys  they  have  all  been 
replaced  by  nails. 

But  the  feature  of  most  decisive  significance  in  the  ana- 
tomical evolution  of  the  hand  is  muscular.  The  most  primi- 
tive racial  hand  was  capable  of  nothing  more  than  simple, 
simultaneous,  oscillatory  movements,  and  the  only  muscles 
were  elevators  and  depressors.  Ascending  the  scale,  these 
muscles  become  more  and  more  differentiated  and  compli- 
cated; protractors,  retractors,  flexors,  extensors,  rotators, 
supinators,  pronators,  abductors,  and  adductors  appear  to 
enlarge  the  repertoire  of  movement.  The  human  hand  is 
now  equipped  with  over  two  dozen  beautifully  adapted  mus- 
cles. There  has  been,  of  course,  a  corresponding  growth  in 
nerve  supply,  with  the  addition  of  higher  accessory  nerve 
centers  to  the  ancient  fundamental  ones.  Innumerable 
nerve  filaments  now  bind  the  hand  to  the  brain. 

We  have  already  seen,  in  the  chapter  on  the  biological 
perspective,  something  of  the  significance  of  the  muscular 
system.  The  nervous  system  is,  after  all,  only  a  part  of  a 
larger  unit,  the  neuromuscular  system ;  and  its  develop- 
ment from  the  sea  anemone,  through  worm,  fish,  reptile,  and 
mammal,  is  interlinked  with  the  multiplication  and  perfec- 
tion of  muscles.  The  peripheral  organs  of  sense  and  of 
movement  are  primary,  and  the  development  of  the  central 
neural  masses  like  the  brain  is  sympathetic  with  that  of  the 
periphery.  It  is  this  large  fact  which  gives  the  hand  its 
vital  influence  upon  the  development  of  both  the  race  and 
the  individual.  MacDougall  has  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that 
"  the  specialization  of  the  hand  was  the  single  indispen- 
sable condition,  so  far  as  regards  gross  anatomical  features, 
which  determined  the  widely  divergent  subsequent  fortunes 
of  the  monkey  tribe  and  man-ape  respectively." 


88  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

A  few  years  ago  when  the  great  Italian  scientist  Angelo 
Mosso  came  to  this  country,  he  delivered  a  very  sugges- 
tive address  on  the  relationship  between  psychic  processes 
and  muscular  exercise.  "  The  mutual  relation  of  intelligence 
and  movement"  he  said,  "  is  one  of  the  most  constant  factors 
in  nature."  The  superiority  of  the  Greeks,  he  thought,  was 
due  to  their  great  attention  to  bodily  exercise.  Similarly, 
the  genius  of  the  great  artists  in  the  renaissance  was  de- 
veloped by  the  exercise  with  which  they  gained  their 
manual  dexterity.  Giotto  was  painter,  sculptor,  and  archi- 
tect ;  Michelangelo  was  anatomist,  painter,  sculptor ;  and 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  the  champion  ambidexter  of  the  world, 
was  musician,  painter,  engineer,  architect,  man  of  letters, 
sculptor,  etc.  "  The  more  mobile  the  extremities  of  an  ani- 
mal are,"  says  Mosso,  "  the  more  intelligent  it  is.  Among 
all  birds  the  parrot  is  the  most  intelligent  because  it  makes 
more  use  than  do  other  birds  of  its  legs,  beak,  and  tongue ; 
the  elephant  is  more  intelligent  than  all  other  wild  animals 
because  he  makes  use  not  only  of  his  legs,  but  also  of  his 
snout  as  organs  of  movement."  What  the  trunk  is  to  the 
elephant  the  hand  is  to  man. 

Dr.  Burke,  in  his  oft-quoted  article  on  the  development 
of  the  nervous  system,  said,  "  When  we  attempt  to  measure 
the  gap  between  man  and  the  lower  animals  in  terms  of 
power  of  movement,  the  wonder  is  no  less  great  than  when 
we  use  terms  of  mentality."  Imagine  the  state  of  a  crea- 
ture in  whom  the  hand  is  perpetually  degraded  to  the  office 
of  locomotion.  Such  is  the  state  of  all  hoofed  animals  and 
largely  of  rodents,  insectivora,  and  carnivora.  Even  in  the 
clutching,  tearing,  burrowing,  and  digging  of  the  latter 
animals,  as  Burke  pointed  out,  the  real  work  is  done  by 
the  more  central  muscles.  The  accompanying  diagram  of 
the  hand  of  the  mole,  though  it  may  imply  sad  havoc  to  the 


THE  HAND 


89 


lawn,  does  not  suggest  a  range  of  movement  or  motility  large 
enough  to  place  the  animal  high  in  the  mental  scale. 

It  is  not  until  we  reach  the  arboreal  mammals  that  clumsy 
hoofs  and  paddy  paws  give  way  to  flexible  digits  which 
approach  the  human  hand  in  both  appearance  and  function. 


Ill  IV 


FIG.  17.  VARIOUS  FORMS  OF  CARPUS  (WRIST) 

A,  New  Zealand  lizard ;  £,  chick  embryo  (early  stage) ;   6',  chick  embryo 

(later  stage) ;  D,  European  lizard ;  E,  mole ;  F,  pig.  (From  Wilder's  "History 

of  the  Human  Body  ") 

Of  course  even  here  there  are  exceptions,  such  as  the  sloth. 
This  uninspiring  creature  has  hands  and  feet  which  are  like 
double  and  triple  hooks.  With  these  he  fixes  himself  to 
a  bough,  his  chief  hope  of  defense  the  livelong  day  being 
his  resemblance  to  a  motionless  tuft  of  hanging  moss.  "  A 
hungry  bear  collects  a  family  of  sloths  as  he  would  gather 
a  bunch  of  grapes."  But  the  typical  tenant  of  the  trees  is 


90  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

a  creature  who  is  all  hands,  even  to  his  feet  and  tail.  For 
example,  take  the  American  opossum :  he  grasps  the  limbs 
with  considerable  dexterity,  and  with  his  prehensile  tail  or 
fifth  hand  he  will  even  roll  up  a  large  bundle  of  leaves  and 
carry  them  to  his  hole.  The  cleverness  of  the  raccoon  in 
the  manipulation  of  his  handlike  claws  also  is  characteristic 
and  bespeaks  a  high  degree  of  intelligence,  such  as  Davis 
has  found  in  his  interesting  study  of  that  animal's  behavior. 

The  most  important  differentiation  which  takes  place  with 
the  arboreal  needs  of  climbing,  clinging,  and  grasping  mate- 
rials for  food  and  home  building  is  the  greater  mobility  of 
the  first  digit.  Even  in  the  marsupials  the  great  toe  acquires 
the  power  of  opposition  to  the  other  toes.  In  some  species 
this  power  of  opposition  is  limited  to  the  foot,  but  with  the 
apes  it  extends  to  the  thumb.  Man  has  lost  his  power  of  op- 
posing the  toe,  but  boasts  the  highest  development  of  thumb 
opposition.  It  was  when  the  arboreal  life  was  supplemented 
by  terrestrial  habits,  and  when  our  primitive  progenitors 
began  to  walk  erect,  that  the  hand  was  freed  for  a  multi- 
tude of  new  uses,  and  experienced  a  new  burst  of  develop- 
ment, linked  with  the  largest  destinies  of  the  race ;  for  the 
hands  became  the  servants,  the  antennae,  of  the  brain,  and 
in  a  very  real  sense  the  creators  of  new  areas  in  the  brain. 

In  every  important  anatomical  feature  the  hand  was  per- 
fected with  the  higher  uses  to  which  it  was  impelled.  It 
became  softer,  more  slender,  supple,  and  sensitive.  The  arc 
of  rotation  of  the  forearm  became  greater,  so  that  now  it  is 
about  one  hundred  eighty  degrees.  The  wrist  hinges  be- 
came more  flexible,  and  MacDougall  thinks  there  has  been 
an  increasing  relaxation  of  the  system  of  muscles  which  bind 
the  hand  together.  The  thumb  has  become  more  independ- 
ent and  powerful,  so  that  now  it  can  grasp  a  sphere  where 
once  it  could  only  grasp  a  cylinder,  or  still  earlier  moved 


THE  HAND  91 

parallel  with  the  other  digits.  Each  digit  has  gained  a  sim- 
ilar independence,  both  in  flexion  and  in  lateral  and  oblique 
extension,  permitting  now  the  most  marvelous  manipula- 
tions of  instruments  both  of  art  and  of  utility. 

The  investigations  of  Fere  seem  to  prove  that  there  has 
been  an  increase  in  the  length  of  the  last  joint  of  all  the 
fingers.  Undoubtedly  there  has  been  increase  of  sensitivity. 
The  hairs  and  callous  pads  have  been  supplanted  by  a  soft 
mosaic  of  tiny  sensorial  areas,  so  that  now  the  most  delicate 
contacts  and  minute  distances  between  single  contacts  can 
be  discriminated.  In  the  palm  of  each  hand  there  are  some 
six  hundred  Pacinian  corpuscles  and  fifteen  thousand  Meiss- 
ner  corpuscles,  —  microscopic  spongy  bulbs  the  chief  organs 
of  touch.  There  are  thousands  more  in  the  fingers,  which 
are  fourfold  more  sensitive  than  the  palms. 

There  is  one  other  way  in  which  the  hands  of  the  race 
were  specialized,  or  perverted  as  the  ambidexters  would  say. 
We  know  not  when,  but  probably  as  far  back  as  the  eolithic 
age,  the  human  species  began  to  favor  one  hand,  and  there  is 
some  evidence  from  the  paleolithic  drawings  that  it  was 
from  the  first  the  right  hand.  It  is  natural  that  such  a 
specialization  should  have  developed,  for  it  is  nature's  way 
of  increasing  perfection.  Davis  states  a  fact  about  the 
raccoon  which  suggests  the  possibility  of  even  prehuman 
unidextrality :  "  Through  practice  the  animals  soon  acquire 
the  ability  to  use  each  f  orepaw  independently,  and  are  finally 
able  to  use  one  paw  with  greater  quickness  and  accuracy 
than  they  formerly  used  the  two."  A  natural  evolutionary 
step  following  upon  this  would  seem  to  be  the  particular 
perfection  of  one  hand. 

What  is  the  origin  of  right-handedness?  There  are  all 
sorts  of  ingenious  theories :  (1)  It  is  the  result  of  the  way 
the  mother  carries  the  child,  giving  the  right  hand  the 


92  THE  GENETIC  BACKGKOTOD 

larger  chance  for  development.  (2)  Primitive  man  shielded 
his  heart,  which  is  on  the  left  side  of  the  body,  with  his 
left  hand,  and  fought  with  his  strong  right  arm ;  tradition 
and  education  have  emphasized  the  distinction.  (3)  The  vis- 
cera on  the  right  side  of  the  body  weigh  one  pound  more 
than  those  on  the  left,  the  center  of  gravity  is  on  the  right 
side,  and  the  kind  of  respiration  which  accompanies  exercise 
of  the  limbs  on  the  right  is  more  favorable  to  sustained 
exertion  than  vice  versa.  The  reason  for  right-handedness, 
then,  is  a  mechanical  one.  (4)  The  directness  of  the  com- 
munication of  the  carotid  artery  with  the  aorta  and  the 
larger  caliber  of  the  left  carotid  give  the  left  hemisphere, 
which  controls  the  right  hand,  a  nutritional  and  therefore 
functional  advantage.  (5)  Unidextrality  is  the  result  of 
ocular  one-sidedness,  which  preexisted  and  made  necessary 
the  paramount  use  of  one  or  the  other  hand.  (6)  Right- 
handedness  is  a  character  which  has  been  attained  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  the  evolution  of  man  by  the  process  of 
natural  selection.  Left-brainedness  is  as  much  the  cause 
as  the  result  of  right-handedness. 

It  is  unnecessary  and  impossible  for  us  to  go  into  a  criti- 
cal discussion  of  these  theories.  Jackson  in  his  work  on 
ambidexterity  minimizes  them.  The  most  tenable  general 
conclusion  seems  to  be  that  right-handedness  is  a  racial 
hereditary  tendency,  correlated  with  a  structural  and  func- 
tional preeminence  of  the  left  hemisphere.  It  has  an  organic 
basis,  not  necessarily  in  the  gross  weight  of  the  left  hemi- 
sphere, but  in  the  innate  predisposition  and  organization 
of  the  cortical  neurons  of  that  hemisphere.  With  most 
people,  therefore,  right-handedness  is  truly  instinctive,  de- 
pending upon  inborn  peculiarities  of  the  racial  brain.  Left- 
handedness,  whether  atavistic,  pathologic,  or  sporadic  in 
origin,  tends  likewise  to  be  hereditary. 


THE  HAND  93 

Summarizing  the  chief  stages  in  the  evolution  of  the  racial  ' 
hand  we  find  the  following :  (1)  differentiation  of  the  digits 
from  a  simple,  single-jointed  lever ;  (2)  multiplication  and 
segmentation  of  muscles  and  nerves,  accompanied  by  the 
addition  of  accessory  powers  of  grasping  and  manipula- 
tion grafted  upon  the  fundamental  powers  of  locomotion ; 
(3)  complete  abandonment  of  hand  locomotion  with  the 
assumption  of  the  erect  attitude ;  (4)  opposition  of  the 
thumb ;  (5)  right-handedness ;  (6)  development  of  crafts 
and  fine  arts,  mechanical  and  technical  skill. 

It  will  be  interesting  to  see  whether  the  development  of 
the  hand  in  the  individual  child  reproduces  these  chief 
phyletic  phases. 

The  earliest  and  most  striking  hand  feat  exhibited  in 
infancy  was  demonstrated  by  Dr.  Robinson  in  his  experi- 
ments with  Darwinism  in  the  nursery.  He  found  that  even 
a  newborn  baby  can  grasp  a  bar  or  a  finger,  and  suspend 
its  weight  from  ten  seconds  to  a  minute.  When  the  baby  is 
two  or  three  weeks  old,  it  will  remain  hanging  for  as  much 
as  two  minutes  without  any  sign  of  strain.  This  marvelous 
reaction,  which  would  tax  even  an  adult,  and  which  so  con- 
trasts with  the  infant's  general  helplessness,  can  only  be 
explained  on  evolutionary  grounds. 

For  months  the  hand  movements  are  always  simultaneous. 
The  child  cannot  do  different  things  at  the  same  time  with 
each  hand.  Many  of  these  early  finger  and  arm  movements 
have  a  rhythmic,  oscillatory  character  which  to  some  ob- 
servers is  suggestive  of  the  aquatic  stage  of  race  develop- 
ment. With  the  advent  of  creeping  and  climbing  the  hands 
return  to  their  ancient  function  of  locomotion  and  grasping. 
As  we  should  expect,  the  fingers  for  a  long  time  move  par- 
allel with  each  other.  Any  one  who  will  watch  carefully 
the  manipulations  of  a  three-year-old  child  will  find  that 


94  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

the  power  of  independent  flexion  and  extension  of  the  digits 
is  still  considerably  undeveloped,  and  that  the  tendency  to 
use  the  fingers  together  in  a  single  hook  form  persists. 

The  power  of  opposition  in  the  phylum,  as  we  saw,  first 
appeared  in  the  hind  limbs;  and  the  big  toe  of  babies  is 


FIG.  18.  THE  FEET  AS  HANDS 
In  infancy  the  foot  exhibits  some  of  its  racial  prehensile  power 

strangely  mobile,  as  are  the  little  toes,  which  can  grasp 
with  a  vigor  reminiscent  of  their  ancient  prehensile  char- 
acter. The  accompanying  photograph  shows  the  instinc- 
tive skill  of  a  seven-months-old  baby  in  "handling"  objects 
with  the  feet.  The  independence  of  the  thumb  asserts  itself 
slowly.  As  Burke  says,  "For  the  first  few  months  of  life  the 
thumb  is  really  a  nuisance  to  the  child  and  is  continually  in 


THE  HASTD  95 

the  way."  After  it  has  come  out  of  its  curled-up  position 
in  the  grasp  it  takes  over  a  half  year  or  more  before  the 
method  of  opposition  is  well  established.  All  the  fingers 
move  parallel  and  the  palm  faces  downward.  The  invalid 
in  extreme  weakness  reverts  to  a  racially  old  method  of  pre- 
hension and  grasps  with  all  the  fingers  moving  parallel  and 
the  palm  facing  downward.  The  normal  developed  grasp  is 
of  course  with  the  palm  upward  and  the  thumb  opposed. 

Simultaneity  is  a  characteristic  of  the  early  hand  move- 
ments. Even  the  adult  does  not  overcome  completely  this 
tendency  of  the  hands  to  act  in  unison.  Idiots  never  over- 
come it,  and  when  one  hand  moves,  the  other  must  move 
sympathetically.  But  in  every  normal  child  this  bilateral 
simultaneity  begins  to  break  up  at  about  the  eighth  month, 
when  there  is  a  propensity  to  use  one  hand  more  than  the 
other.  We  have  seen  a  baby  in  arms  show  very  convincing 
evidence  of  this.  We  held  her  so  she  could  strike  a  Chinese 
gong  which  hung  from  the  ceiling.  She  did  it  with  amus- 
ingly earnest  pleasure.  Repeatedly  we  put  the  little  ham- 
mer with  which  she  struck  into  her  left  hand.  She  would 
make  a  few  efforts  with  that  hand,  and  then,  without  fail, 
quickly  transfer  the  hammer  to  her  right  hand,  which  even 
at  her  tender  age  she  used  with  decidedly  greater  facility 
and  effect.  In  Professor  Baldwin's  child  a  preference  for  $  X 
the  right  hand  began  to  manifest  itself  as  early  as  the 
sixth  month. 

This  unidextrality  does  not  appear  with  equal  intensity 
and  at  the  same  age  with  all  children,  nor  does  it  develop 
at  a  uniform  rate.  In  fact  it  may  be  —  if  we  knew  all  the 
facts  on  this  puzzling  subject  —  that  ambidextrous  training 
should  have  a  relatively  larger  place  in  early  childhood,  as 
it  did  in  the  earlier  experience  of  the  race.  In  most  cases 
such  training  would  have  a  favorable  effect  on  symmetry 


96  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

of  posture,  would  make  for  balance  of  movement,  and 
relieve  muscle  and  eyestrain.  Besides,  the  power  of  the 
right  hand  would  itself  be  improved  by  the  exercise  of  the 
left.  There  is  a  kind  of  cross-education,  as  experiments  in 
the  laboratory  have  proved.  It  was  shown  with  the  mer- 
cury dynamometer  that  the  unpracticed  left  hand  gained  in 
nine  days  about  50  per  cent  in  strength  of  grip  through 
practice  of  the  right  hand.  It  was  also  demonstrated  in  cer- 
tain tapping  tests  that  the  unearned  increment  extended  not 
only  from  hand  to  hand,  but  to  various  parts  of  the  body, 
from  hand  to  foot.  The  ease  "with  which  the  left  hand  does 
mirror  writing  also  suggests  the  fact  of  cross-education. 

Christopher  found,  in  his  investigation  of  the  Chicago 
public-school  children,  that  a  marked  difference  in  the 
strength  of  the  two  hands  does  not  appear  in  boys  till  after 
the  fourteenth  year,  nor  in  girls  till  after  the  thirteenth. 
The  disparity  between  the  left  and  the  right  hand  seems 
to  be  greater  as  a  rule  in  bright  children.  If  this  is  a  law, 
it  is  one  which  the  extreme  ambidexter  must  respect ;  but 
there  is  still  a  place  for  a  moderate  ambidexterity  which 
will  favor  the  specialization  of  one  hand,  but  will  not  deny 
it  the  advantages  that  come  crosswise  from  education  of 
the  other,  nor  deny  the  whole  body  the  benefits  that  come 
from  bilateral  control. 

Right-handedness  and  speech  bear  both  genetic  and  neu- 
rological relations  to  each  other.  Primitive  language  was 
that  of  the  hand,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  right  hand  was 
preeminent  in  gesturing.  The  neurons  that  control  this 
hand  are  in  the  left  hemisphere,  and  the  many  hand-motor 
associations  which  the  perceptions  and  images  of  things 
awaken  are  predominantly  represented  in  that  hemisphere. 
When  articulate  speech  arose,  the  delicate  neuron  organ- 
izations which  govern  it,  both  on  the  sensory  and  the  motor 


THE  HAND  97 

side,  naturally  located  themselves  in  the  left  hemisphere, 
and  the  highly  complex  art  of  writing  words  also  probably 
has  a  special  center  there.  In  left-handed  people  these 
speech  centers  are  in  the  right  hemisphere. 

That  there  is  some  sympathy  and  connection  between 
the  hand-motor  areas  and  the  speech  areas  is  suggested  by 
the  fact  that  right-handedness  and  articulate  speech  occur 
at  about  the  same  time  in  little  children.  Sikorski,  the  au- 
thority on  speech  defects,  found,  after  examining  ten  thou- 
sand pupils,  that  the  proportion  of  left-handed  writers  is 
almost  twice  as  great  for  boys  as  for  girls.  He  also  found 
by  comparing  the  copy  books  of  boys  and  girls  that  ataxic 
writing  was  from  seven  to  eight  times  more  prevalent  with 
the  former.  He  correlated  these  facts  with  the  well-known 
truth  that  boys  are  about  three  times  more  susceptible  to 
speech  defects  than  girls.  This  is  a  neural  susceptibility  that 
may  extend  to  the  writing  center,  which  seems  to  stand  in 
close  relation  to  that  of  speech.  When  marked  left-handed- 
ness  shows  itself,  the  neural  center  of  gravity  apparentlyV/: 
is  in  the  right  hemisphere,  and  systematic  interference  / 
with  left-handedness  therefore  works  against  the  designs 
of  nature,  and  may  so  disturb  the  neural  equilibrium  that 
speech  defects  will  ensue.  The  fact  that  left-handedness  is  \s 
so  often  hereditary  is  itself  significant.  The  suffering  and 
harm,  both  mental  and  physical,  which  are  being  visited 
upon  constitutionally  left-handed  children  ought  to  come 
to  an  end. 

The  law  of  evolution  in  the  hand  of  the  individual  seems, 
therefore,  to  be  like  that  of  the  race,  a  gradual  progression 
from  simultaneity  to  independence  of  movement,  —  a  law 
which  applies  first  to  the  whole  hand,  and  then  to  the 
separate  digits,  and  later  to  the  separate  joints.  Manual 
dexterity  consists  primarily  in  ability  to  execute  distinct 


98 


THE  GENETIC  BACKGBOUND 


little  movements,  and  only  secondarily  in  the  coordination 
of  these.  At  first  the  baby  cannot  even  put  his  hand  to 
his  mouth,  and  when  he  does  attain  to  this  power,  one  hand 
tends  to  move  sympathetically  with  the  other.  Later,  this 
same  child  may  make  literally  hundreds  of  simultaneous, 
but  different,  digital  movements  with  both  hands.  A  trained 
person  can,  according  to  figures  quoted  by  Jackson,  play  on 
the  piano  5,595  notes  in  four  minutes  and  three  seconds. 


FIG.  19.   BABY  AND  ADULT  HANDS 

To  get  an  adequate  appreciation  of  the  almost  consum- 
mate perfection  of  the  human  hand,  one  has  but  to  compare 
it  with  some  of  its  ancestral  forms  and  capacities  in  the 
lower  animals,  in  infants,  or  in  defectives  in  whom  it  has 
suffered  arrested  development.  The  accompanying  picture 
illustrates,  as  beautifully  as  a  nonkinetoscopic  picture 
can,  the  salient  differences  between  the  controlled,  coor- 
dinated adult  hand  and  the  undeveloped,  half-anthropoid 
hand  of  the  infant.  See  the  tendency  in  the  baby  hands  and 
arms,  to  say  nothing  about  the  feet  and  legs,  to  move  all 
together.  If  the  stockings  were  only  off,  we  should  see 


THE  HAND 


99 


evidences  of  simultaneous  flexion  of  toes  as  well  as  of 
fingers.  Notice  the  padded,  unrelaxed  character  of  the 
baby  hand,  and  how  closely  the  fingers  act  and  lie  together. 
Contrast  with  this  the  separate  control,  in  both  flexion  and 
extension,  of  the  individual  digits,  typical  of  the  adult's 
hand,  when  it  is  normally 
developed. 

The  significance  of  the 
perfected  human  hand  is 
still  more  forcibly  brought 
out  by  a  comparison  with 
the  idiot  hand  which  was  so 
well  described  by  Seguin 
in  his  classic  essay:  "The 
hand  of  R  is  small,  the 
nails  short  and  brittle,  fin- 
gers as  if  unfinished,  no 
power,  no  skill,  only  auto- 
matic movements  mainly 
from  the  wrist.  He  could 
not  put  his  fingers  in  any 
given  attitude.  He  could 
not  rotate  on  command 
that  wrist  so  nimble  when 
striking  or  vibrating  auto- 
matically. He  could  obey 
the  movements  of  eleva- 
tion and  abduction,  but  not  always,  nor  with  anything 
like  precision." 

Grasp  this  hand  and  the  very  feeling  of  it  is  at  first 
uncanny  because  of  the  clammy  skin,  the  unyielding,  un- 
responsive fingers.  Some  of  the  most  fruitful  tests  deter- 
mining mental  efficiency  are  those  which  demand  the  use 


FIG.  20.  THE  HANDS  AND  HANDWORK 
OF  AN  IMBECILE  BOY 


100 


THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 


of  the  hands  in  a  controlled  manner,  as  threading  needles, 
tracing  lines,  striking  dots  with  a  small  pointed  wand, 
stringing  beads,  etc.  Simple  activities  —  such  as  button- 
ing and  unbuttoning,  tying  shoe  strings,  scrubbing,  peeling 
potatoes  —  often  constitute  the  highest  attainments  of  the 
idiot  hand,  even  under  education.  One  of  the  tests  to  which 

these  children 
—for  so  they  al- 
ways are,  even 
though  they  may 
live  into  mature 
age  —  are  sub- 
jected in  the 
Home  for  the 
Feeble-minded  at 
Vineland,  New 
Jersey,  is  called 
the  stereognos- 
tic  test.  The 
subject  puts  his 
hands  into  an 
inclosed  bag  to 
see  whether  he 
can  by  stereog- 
nosis  —  that  is, 
by  feeling  the 
objects  in  the  bag  —  distinguish  between  the  ball,  brush, 
comb,  key,  etc. 

It  was  by  training  the  idiot  hand  that  Se"guin  awakened 
the  idiot  mind.  The  hand,  as  we  shall  show  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter,  is  truly  an  organ  of  perception.  With  its  flexi- 
ble motor  equipment  it  explores  surfaces  and  outlines,  and 
through  its  thousands  of  microscopic  touch  corpuscles, 


FIG.  21.    STEREOGNOSIS 


101 


102  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

cutaneous  and  articular,  it  helps  to  frame  a  figured  con- 
sciousness of  the  size,  form,  rondure,  edges,  etc.,  of  things. 
At  the  end  of  the  index  finger  there  are  twenty-one  Meissner 
corpuscles  to  one  square  millimeter.  The  finger  tip  can  dis- 
tinguish separate  vibrations,  even  though  they  impinge  at 
the  rate  of  1552  per  second,  can  discern  a  minimal  distance 
of  one  tenth  of  a  millimeter,  and  a  weight  of  three  grams 
to  a  square  millimeter.  Furthermore,  the  internal  sensory 
mechanism  of  the  hand  is  so  delicate  that  if  the  hand  be 
moved  through  the  tiniest  fraction  of  an  arc,  the  movement 
will  nevertheless  be  felt.  Contrast  all  these  powers  with 
those  of  the  brute  paw ! 

But  these  refined  sensory  qualities  are  not  to  be  consid- 
ered as  divorced  from  the  incomparable  motor  mechanism 
of  the  hand.  It  is  the  motility  of  the  hand,  joined  with  its 
intrinsic  sensitiveness,  that  makes  it  the  supreme  organ  of 
perception.  The  rods  and  cones  of  the  retina  are  not  stere- 
ognostic.  As  MacDougall  says,  "  The  world  becomes  real 
to  us  only  in  so  far  as  we  are  active  in  relation  to  it." 
Creatures  with  clumsy  and  callous  limbs  cannot  get  the 
varied  tactual  contact  with  the  configuration  of  objects 
upon  which  clear  perception  depends.  The  exploring  hand 
furnishes  not  only  the  passive  tactual  experiences,  but 
the  vivid,  orderly  kinsesthetic  sensations  which  make  it  "  a 
second  visual  sense  by  which  the  pathway  of  visual  per- 
ception is  illuminated."  If  teachers  were  only  more  pro- 
foundly convinced  of  the  psychology  of  all  this,  they  would 
not  so  exclusively  address  the  eye  and  the  ear. 

It  seems  to  us  that  teachers  should  become  more  con- 
scious of  the  hands  of  their  pupils.  When  the  whole  boy 
comes  to  school,  he  brings  his  hands  with  him,  and  though 
they  may  sometimes  be  dirty,  that  is  not  their  most  vital 
characteristic.  We  know  one  teacher  who  does  appreciate 


THE  HAND  103 

hands.  She  often  takes  pupils  by  the  hand ;  she  judges  their 
temperament  by  the  clasp,  and  when  she  wishes  to  under- 
stand their  passing  mood,  she  feels  the  hand.  By  this  "digi- 
tal diagnosis  "  she  learns  more  than  she  can  in  any  other 
way.  In  fact,  she  has  a  half-conscious  pedagogical  palmis- 
try which  enables  her  to  distinguish  mischievous,  sluggish, 
and  nervous  children  by  their  hands.  If  she  hesitates  for  a 
pupil's  name,  she  looks  at  his  hands  and  promptly  the  name 
comes  back  to  her,  so  much  individuality  has  the  hand ;  and 
when  she  tries  to  recall  a  past  schoolroom,  an  assemblage, 
not  of  faces  but  of  hands,  troops  before  her  mind's  eye. 

Hands  and  face, — these  are  the  two  unclothed,  unmasked 
parts  of  our  physical  personality  through  which  character 
speaks.  And  Helen  Keller  writes :  "  Not  only  is  the  hand 
as  easy  to  recognize  as  the  face,  but  it  reveals  its  secrets 
more  openly  and  unconsciously.  People  control  their  coun- 
tenances, but  the  hand  is  under  no  such  restraint.  It  relaxes 
and  becomes  listless  when  the  spirit  is  low  and  dejected ;  the 
muscles  tighten  when  the  mind  is  excited  or  the  heart  glad, 
and  permanent  qualities  stand  written  on  it  all  the  time." 

These  qualities,  both  permanent  and  passing,  deserve 
the  teacher's  attention.  It  is  not  a  question  of  linear  astro- 
logical palmistry,  but  of  a  recognition  of  the  larger  expres- 
siveness of  the  hand.  Dr.  Warner,  after  examining  some 
thousands  of  subjects,  men,  women,  and  children,  found 
that  "  the  different  postures  of  the  hand  could  be  accepted 
as  expressions  of  certain  conditions  of  the  individual,  as 
physical  signs  or  objective  observable  expressions  inherent 
at  the  time."  Thus  there  is  the  normal  straight  hand  which 
is  extended  in  a  poised,  balanced  manner  typical  of  strength. 
The  nervous  hand  tends  to  bend,  and  the  feeble  hand  to 
droop.  This  extension  of  the  hand  is  a  very  good  test  of 
the  child's  general  control  and  vitality. 


104  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

The  teacher  cannot  go  into  the  manicure  business,  nor 
will  she  try  to  make  dandies,  but  the  ideal  of  a  clean,  well- 
kept,  healthy  hand  ought  at  least  to  be  in  mind.  She  should 
recognize  the  existence  of  unhygienic  dirt.  A  physician,  in 
a  recent  article,  has  gone  so  far  as  to  assert  that  "  the  chief 
unintentional  crime  of  our  age,  if  we  can  call  that  which 
is  unconscious  and  unintentional  a  crime,  is  dirty  hands. 
Less  than  a  century  ago  the  medical  profession  had  to  face 
this  condition  in  a  serious  form." 

Surely  the  teacher  should  be  interested  enough  in  ringer 
nails  to  detect  the  many  cases  of  nail  biting  which  are  very 
numerous  with  girls  at  a  critical  physiological  age.  This 
habit  often  is  a  symptom  of  something  larger  than  a  little 
nervousness.  But  even  so  the  hand  is  too  precious  to  be 
disfigured  by  onychophagy. 

There  is  another  form  of  abuse  to  the  hand  whose  un- 
pleasantness we  cannot  cover  with  a  scientific  name,  but 
the  existence  of  which  is  likely  to  annoy  teacher  and  parent. 
This  is  the  perversity  of  sucking  the  thumb.  It  crops  out 
in  most  unexpected  places,  often  is  a  fetish  for  inducing 
sleep,  and  sometimes  the  very  structure  and  flaccid  appear- 
ance of  the  thumb  betray  its  excessive  indulgence.  The 
palate  may  even  be  so  deformed  as  to  cause  a  lisp  in  speech. 
In  many  cases  no  amount  of  persuasion,  bribe,  or  punish- 
ment is  of  avail.  Even  bitter  aloes  and  asafetida  applied 
to  the  thumb  do  not  deter,  and  we  know  of  one  case  which 
did  not  respond  to  treatment  until  an  old-fashioned  country 
doctor  tied  the  arm  to  a  shingle  splint  under  the  garment 
in  such  a  way  that  it  could  not  be  flexed,  and  the  thumb 
simply  could  not  be  brought  to  the  mouth. 

Is  not  the  hand  worthy  of  a  little  more  conscious  appre- 
ciation and  respect  ?  We  fold  the  hands  of  death  tenderly, 
and  they  affect  us  with  a  strange  power,  for  when  lifeless 


THE  HAND  105 

they  suddenly  suggest  so  much  that  we  never  thought  of 
while  they  were  living  and  acting ;  for  those  hands  sym- 
bolize all  the  deeds  and  misdeeds  of  a  life.  One  of  the 
most  impressive  objects  in  the  National  Museum  at  Wash- 
ington is  a  bronze  cast  of  the  strong  and  tender  hand  of 
Abraham  Lincoln. 

How  the  hands  of  people  differ,  reflecting  all  the  fortunes 
of  life,  —  the  hands  of  the  toiler  made  horny  by  the  physi- 
cal struggle  for  existence ;  the  supple,  self -expressive  hands 
of  the  artist;  the  worn,  disfigured  hands  of  the  machine 
tender;  the  tireless  hands  of  the  mother  who  does  every- 
thing ;  and  the  characterless  hands  "  that  spin  not  and  toil 
not,  and  yet  are  not  beautiful.  Beneath  their  soft,  smooth 
roundness  what  a  chaos  of  undeveloped  character !  "  High- 
est of  all  ranks  the  hand  which  embodies  fully  the  qualities 
both  of  science  and  of  humanitarianism,  —  "  merciful  gen- 
tleness and  splendid  certainty." 

The  Scriptures  have  touched  the  hands  with  idealism. 
We  are  told  that  we  must  have  both  a  pure  heart  and  clean 
hands.  If  the  teacher  feels  something  of  this  idealism,  she 
will  be  able  to  impart  it  to  the  child.  It  is  worth  while 
to  make  a  boy  really  feel  the  sentiment  of  honor  toward 
his  hands. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TOUCH  AND  THE  APPRECIATION  OF  THINGS 

"  Life  is  response  to  the  order  of  nature."  The  measure 
of  life,  we  might  almost  say,  is  sensitiveness  to  nature. 
The  ancient  psalmist  has  majestically  catalogued  nature's 
contents,  —  the  heavens,  the  earth,  and  the  great  wide  sea 
wherein  are  things  creeping  innumerable,  both  small  and 
great  beasts;  the  chariot  clouds,  the  wings  of  the  wind, 
the  springs  of  the  valley,  the  fowls  of  the  firmament,  the 
voice  of  the  thunder,  the  grass  for  the  cattle,  the  cedars 
of  Lebanon. 

The  scientist,  in  language  more  prosaic  but  still  poeti- 
cally suggestive,  describes  nature  in  terms  of  the  inces- 
sant forces  of  gravity,  atoms,  electrons,  and  tenuous  waves 
of  ether  dancing  through  space  at  the  rate  of  hundreds  of 
billions  per  second.  Our  sense  perceptions  are  the  feelings 
which  correspond  to  these  varied  objects  and  energies  in 
nature,  "  whose  radiant  activity  enfolds  us  all." 

The  whole  body  of  the  amoeba  is  sensitive  to  contact, 
mechanical  jars,  light,  heat,  chemical  and  electrical  stimuli. 
In  creatures  as  humble  as  the  hydra  and  the  sea  anemone 
there  are  special  sensory  nerve  cells  placed  between  the 
environment  and  the  responding  muscles  of  the  organism. 
These  sense  cells  are  triggerlike  devices  which  furnish  the 
cue  for  responses  and  make  them  more  prompt,  certain, 
and  varied.  In  the  jellyfish  there  are  special  sense  organs, 
eight  clusters  of  them  around  the  rim,  for  the  light,  chemi- 
cal, and  pressure  senses.  If  these  sense  bodies  are  removed, 

106 


TOUCH  AND  APPRECIATION  OF  THINGS     107 

the  animal  will  no  longer  pulsate  spontaneously,  —  which 
goes  to  prove  the  fundamental  importance  of  sensation. 
Genetically,  the  sense  organs  preceded  the  development  of 
the  brain. 

The  sensory-motor  elements  of  the  nervous  system  are 
the  most  primitive,  both  in  function  and  structure  ;  but  very 
early  in  the  animal  scale  the  locomotor  system  becomes 
sufficiently  complex  to  require  a  central  "  adjuster."  The 
natural  place  for  this  adjuster  is  in  the  head,  the  part  that 
is  foremost  in  all  crawling,  climbing,  fleeing,  and  righting. 
Thus  even  the  earthworm  carries  a  brain  in  his  head. 

The  general  character  of  any  brain  varies  with  the  sen- 
sory equipment  and  the  environment  of  the  animal.  Take 
the  turtle :  he  lives  in  a  world  of  odors ;  scent  is  all 
important  in  his  life  economy ;  his  brain  consists  chiefly  of 
two  big,  bulging  olfactory  lobes.  In  man,  smell  is  "  a  fallen 
angel " ;  the  olfactory  lobes  have  dwindled  to  the  size  of  a 
bean,  and  the  bulge  of  our  brain  has  a  different  reason,  — 
though  possibly  not  a  different  origin,  for  Meynert  has  sug- 
gested that  our  cerebral  cortex  has  its  genesis  in  the  olfac- 
tory lobes.  In  any  case  the  organization  and  development 
of  our  cortex  are  indissolubly  connected  with  the  .use  of 
our  sensory  apparatus.  It  is  the  central  switchboard,  or 
adjuster,  on  which  every  sensitive  point  of  our  body  is 
represented.  The  cortex  is  not  only  a  sensorium,  but  it  is 
so  fundamentally  a  sensorium  that  its  vigor  and  refinement 
depend  primarily  upon  the  sense  impressions  which  have 
modified  its  structure.  The  degree  in  which  our  minds  will 
be  athletic  and  aesthetic  depends  upon  what  we  have  seen, 
heard,  smelled,  tasted,  and  touched. 

The  oldest,  biggest,  and  most  fundamental  end  organ  we 
have  is  our  sensitive  skin,  — 1,584,300  square  millimeters  in 
extent.  Woods  Hutchinson  has  called  the  human  skin  one 


108  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

of  the  wonders  of  the  world, — "  a  tissue  more  beautiful  than 
velvet,  more  pliable  than  silk,  more  durable  under  exposure 
than  steel."  Havelock  Ellis  describes  it  as  "  the  archaeologi- 
cal field  of  human  and  prehuman  experience,  the  foundation 
upon  which  all  forms  of  sensory  perception  have  grown  up." 
Indefatigable  explorers  like  Weber,  Frey,  and  Goldscheider 
have  devoted  a  good  part  of  their  lives  to  the  investiga- 
tion of  this  archaeological  field.  They  have  used  the  most 
ingenious  and  refined  methods  of  experimental  science  for 
the  discovery  and  mapping  out  of  its  many  wonders. 

The  amoeba  has  no  skin,  but  it  is  altogether  possible  that 
even  in  the  amoeba  the  peripheral  protoplasm,  or  the  part 
nearest  to  the  environment,  is  especially  sensitive  to  stimuli. 
If  the  amoeba  has  a  stream  of  consciousness,  it  may  well 
be  because  of  some  rudimentary  contact-awareness,  which 
Spencer  considers  the  most  primitive  psychic  phenomenon. 
Certain  it  is  that  almost  as  soon  as  nature  begins  to  multi- 
ply and  differentiate  the  cells  in  a  single  organism  the  ecto- 
derm becomes  especially  sensitive  to  contact  and  pressure. 
Thus  even  in  the  skin  of  the  hydra  and  sea  anemone  and 
in  the  outer  covering  of  earthworm,  frog,  and  lizard  are 
scattered  many  sense  cells.  Ages  and  ages  before  man 
appeared  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  there  were  "multifari- 
ous experiences  with  hardness."  Hall  enumerates  in  a  sug- 
gestive way  how  "  bottom  creatures  love  crevices,  develop 
responses  to  points,  curves,  compression,  changes  of  per- 
meability, cohesion,  thickening,  squeezing  into  holes,  cracks, 
hugging  against  each  other."  In  mammals,  hairs  become 
the  instruments  of  touch.  In  the  little  trembling  mouse, 
with  its  delicate  fur  of  multitudinous  sensitive  hairs,  general 
tactility  is  raised  to  a  very  high  power. 

Man,  although  he  has  lost  much  of  his  ancestral  hair 
covering,  is  provided  with  hundreds  of  thousands  of  touch 


TOUCH  AND  APPRECIATION  OF  THINGS    109 

organs,  —  more,  indeed,  than  seem  necessary,  as  though 
nature  had  provided  a  reserve  for  the  future  development 
of  his  sensibility.  Our  whole  cutaneous  and  subcutaneous 
tissue  and  mucous  membrane  are  equipped  with  pressure 
cells,  bulbs,  and  corpuscles,  of  various  shapes  and  uses. 
Over  a  million  delicate  nerve  fibers  lead  from  these  sensitive 
points  to  the  spinal  cord,  and  every  pressure  point  associated 
with  over  a  half  million  hairs  gives  a  sensation  qualitatively 
distinct.  Besides  this  the  extensive  linings  of  our  viscera 
are  supplied  with  various  tactile  organs,  and  it  may  be  that 
our  very  organic  sensations  which  arise  on  internal  stimu- 
lation are  only  special  varieties  and  combinations  of  tactile 
impressions.  Furthermore,  there  are  extremely  important 
pressure  or  touch  end  organs  within  the  voluntary  muscles 
themselves,  and  in  the  sensitive  joint  surfaces  on  which 
these  muscles  operate,  and  in  the  tendons  to  which  they 
attach.  The  stimulation  of  this  group  of  organs  produces 
our  tactile-motor  or  kinaesthetic  sensations,  which  make  us 
aware  of  all  our  movements  of  the  fingers,  arms,  tongue, 
etc.  Closely  identified  are  the  sensations  of  strain  occa- 
sioned by  muscular  activity  in  overcoming  resistance ;  and 
when  the  muscular  activity  is  cadenced,  we  have  the  sense 
of  rhythm.  Thus  our  whole  physical  organism  from  finger 
tips  to  tendons  and  vitals  is  literally  possessed  by  a  myriad 
of  tactile  neurons.  No  other  sense  has  such  a  wide  domain. 
No  other  sense  lies  at  once  so  all-pervadingly  close  to  our 
personality  and  to  our  realization  of  the  objective  world. 
Tactility  is  the  very  essence  of  reality. 

Consciousness  of  the  outside  world,  and  of  the  bodily 
self,  begins  with  the  vague  tactile  impressions  of  mouth, 
cheek,  and  body  enjoyed  by  the  baby  when  nestled  in  its 
mother's  arms.  In  the.  early  weeks  the  child  is  merely  a 
passive  receptor  of  tactile  stimuli,  and  his  attention  does 


110  THE  GENETIC  BACKGKOUND 

not  rise  above  the  plane  of  staring  and  wonder.  But  his 
nervous  system,  developing  at  a  rapid  pace,  prompts  him 
and  enables  him  in  due  time  to  be  actively  curious  and  to 
accumulate  tactile  experience  on  his  own  initiative.  This 
is  active  attention  and  active  touch.  He  begins  to  reach, 
to  clasp,  to  creep,  to  walk,  to  tear,  to  build  up.  He  gets 
into  mischief  and  into  a  knowledge  of  things,  and  chiefly 
through  the  ceaseless  manipulation  of  his  prehensile  organs, 
the  hands.  These  are  really  end  organs  of  perception  of  su- 
preme importance.  Nothing  in  the  long  onward  march  of 
the  human  species  was  more  helpful  and  potential  than  the 
releasing  of  these  organs  from  the  brutal  use  of  locomotion 
for  manual  dexterity  and  contrivance.  Indeed,  the  contact 
experiences  resulting  from  manipulation  constitute  the  very 
"  core  of  thinghood."  The  lower  animals,  in  their  manipu- 
lation, are  limited  to  such  clumsy  organs  as  beaks,  paws, 
claws,  and  jaws,  and  Professor  Mead  has  raised  the  question 
whether  the  capacity  of  clear  perception  of  physical  things 
is  therefore  not  limited  to  man. 

When  compared  with  sight  and  hearing,  touch  has  been 
called  an  unintellectual  sense,  but  such  a  statement  is  seri- 
ously misleading.  The  most  fundamental  data  for  our  per- 
ception of  distance,  direction,  size,  and  form  come  through 
the  feel  gate.  Only  handling  and  manual  activity  can  put 
vividness  and  content  into  the  perceptions  of  the  outside 
world.  The  child  must  begin  in  very  infancy  its  acquaint- 
ance with  the  resistance  and  construction  qualities  of  paper, 
sand,  cloth,  wood,  etc.  By  gradual  stages  he  gets  farther 
and  farther  into  the  heart  of  things,  and  learns  the  essen- 
tials of  what  engineers  call  the  materials  of  construction. 
If  his  opportunities  are  good,  he  will  by  tools  learn  the 
individuality  of  various  woods,  cardboard,  leather,  wire, 
fibers,  clay,  glass,  stone,  wool,  cotton,  and  by  dabbling 


TOUCH  AND  APPRECIATION  OF  THINGS     111 

acquire  enough  about  every  art  to  give  him  an  appreciative 
apperception  for  everything  that  man  has  made.  Our  point 
is  that  he  cannot  get  this  appreciation  by  mere  reading  or 
listening  or  even  observation.  His  skin  and  tendons  and 
muscles  must  be  stimulated  before  he  gets  the  kernel  of 
reality  in  any  physical  thing.  For  this  reason  much  of  the 
object  teaching  in  the  schools  is  not  nearly  so  effective  as  is 
often  fondly  believed.  It  is  only  eye-deep,  and  what  children 
need  is  the  opportunity  to  handle  and  stroke.  A  picture  is 
better  than  a  word,  a  stuffed  bird  better  than  a  picture  of 
one,  but  nothing  can  take  the  place  of  putting  a  little  live 
creature  into  the  palms,  where  fifty  thousand  touch  bulbs 
will  tingle  with  the  fluffiness  of  the  feathers.  Such  a  contact 
experience  will  establish  a  warm,  tactile  sympathy  for  the 
object,  beside  which  a  mere  visual  impression,  however  defi- 
nite, is  feeble  and  anaesthetic.  The  do-not-touch  principle,  at 
school,  home,  and  expositions,  is  unfortunately  limiting. 

There  is  a  whole  group  of  biological  reasons  why  touch 
is  of  all  the  senses  the  most  fundamental,  not  only  for 
the  development  of  intellectual  perception  but  also  for  the 
growth  of  our  aesthetic,  emotional  nature.  Touch  is  chron- 
ologically first  in  the  history  of  mind.  With  the  possible 
exception  of  hunger,  it  is  the  most  ancient  of  all  experiences. 
There  were  touch  sensations  in  the  primordial  sea  where 
the  earliest  life  began.  There  were  touch  sensations  in  the 
mud  and  on  the  land  billions  of  years  before  the  continents 
took  their  present  shape  and  before  man  appeared  upon 
the  face  of  these  continents.  Touch  is  most  intimately  asso- 
ciated with  the  fundamental  instincts  of  workmanship, 
hunger,  sex,  curiosity,  fighting,  and  sympathy.  Moreover, 
it  is  most  vague,  diffuse,  and  general  in  character.  All  these 
reasons  combine  to  make  it  the  most  profoundly  and  mas- 
sively emotional  of  all  the  senses,  especially  in  childhood, 


112  THE  GENETIC  BACKGBOUND 

when  its  ancestral  values  tend  once  more  to  emerge  from 
the  deep  levels  of  the  nervous  system. 

Harriet  Martineau,  in  her  autobiography,  recalls  how  in 
childhood  the  touch  of  a  velvet  button  affected  her :  "  The 
rapture  of  the  sensation  was  really  monstrous."  A  little 
child  may  stroke  a  soft  blanket  with  a  delight  so  intense, 
and  yet  so  reverent  and  tender,  as  to  be  almost  spiritual. 
Through  no  other  avenue  does  the  child  get  such  a  wealth  of 
artistic  enjoyment.  Who  can  number  the  thrills  of  pleasure 
every  eager  child  gains  by  the  mere  stroking  of  smooth 
surfaces  and  rondures,  polished  woods  and  marbles,  pebbles, 
silks,  vegetables,  fruits,  animals?  And  what  of  the  end- 
less rapturous  experiments  with  the  textures,  the  pliancy, 
elasticity,  and  rigidity  of  all  sorts  of  materials  ? 

Then  there  are  the  larger  dermal  joys  and  adventures  in 
which  face  and  cheek,  and  sometimes  the  whole  body,  par- 
ticipate,—  the  big  tactual  experiences  with  the  elements, 
fire,  frost,  cold,  wind,  mist,  sod,  beach,  and  sea.  These  massy 
experiences,  though  less  discriminative  than  the  delicate 
touches  of  the  finger  tips,  are  all  the  more  bucolic  and  ex- 
uberant, for  they  are  profoundly  dyed  with  the  interests, 
joys,  and  longings  of  the  race ;  and  there  is  a  resurgence 
of  feeling  when  the  child  reexperiences  them.  Hence  his 
orgy  of  enjoyment  when  he  is  free  to  wade,  wallow,  and 
splash  in  mud  or  water.  Bareheadedness,  baref ootedness — 
and  on  swimming  and  athletic  days  barebodiedness  —  are 
the  biological  rights  of  every  child.  Only  by  such  generous 
exposure  to  wind  and  weather,  to  earth,  water,  and  sky, 
can  nature  make  those  rich,  massive  impressions  which  get 
to  the  depth  of  the  soul.  Every  child  needs  a  rich'  range 
of  touch  experiences,  —  of  the  delicate  for  the  apprecia- 
tion of  things  refined,  of  the  grosser  for  the  appreciation  of 
things  strong,  stately,  and  sublime. 


TOUCH  AND  APPRECIATION  OF  THINGS     113 

Without  touch,  our  capacity  for  cesthetic  appreciation 
would  become  emaciated.  Even  music,  the  most  ethereal 
of  all  the  arts,  depends  upon  the  tactile-motor  part  of  our 
nature.  Rhythm  has  a  motor  basis,  and  in  the  enjoyment 
of  melody  there  is  a  kind  of  translation  of  ebb  and  flow 
and  modulation  of  sound  into  spatial  movements  as  vague 
tactile-motor  excitations.  The  deaf  can  enjoy  music  because 
it  is  capable  of  this  tactile  transmutation. 

Most  of  the  arts  address  themselves  to  the  eye ;  but 
even  here  the  sentiment  of  beauty  derives  much  of  its  force 
from  the  tactile  and  motor  memories  which  are  vaguely 
awakened  whenever  we  behold  a  painting,  statue,  or  cathe- 
dral. Without  many  varied  tactile  experiences  with  surfaces, 
and  refined  touch  discriminations,  and  many  explorations 
of  outlines  with  fingers,  pencil,  chisel,  etc.,  in  the  back- 
ground of  consciousness,  we  could  never  get  into  that  vague 
but  most  real  tactile-motor  communion  with  the  objects 
which  our  eye  contemplates.  This  tactile-motor  communion 
lends  depth  to  our  aesthetic  reactions.  Everything,  however 
humble,  which  enriches  the  active  and  passive  touch  ex- 
periences of  the  child,  will  therefore  contribute  to  higher 
aesthetic  enjoyment. 

As  Helen  Keller  says :  "  There  is  more  meant  in  things 
than  meets  the  eye."  "  The  wonderful  rhythmical  flow  of 
lines  and  curves  can  be  more  subtly  felt  than  seen."  "  I 
know,"  she  says,  "that  the  world  I  see  with  my  fingers  is 
alive,  ruddy,  satisfying."  Sometimes  the  experiences  are 
so  enchanting  that  her  hands  quiver  with  pleasure,  for 
touch,  too,  has  its  ecstasies  and  is  eloquent.  "  In  touch  is 
all  love  and  intelligence." 

"  The  thousand  soft  voices  of  the  earth  have  truly  found 
their  way  to  me  —  the  small  rustle  in  tufts  of  grass,  the 
silky  swish  of  leaves,  the  buzz  of  insects,  the  hum  of  bees 


114  THE  GENETIC  BACKGKOUND 

in  blossoms  I  have  plucked,  the  flutter  of  a  bird's  wings 
after  his  bath,  and  the  slender  rippling  vibration  of  water 
running  over  pebbles.  Once  having  been  felt,  these  loved 
voices  rustle,  buzz,  hum,  flutter,  and  ripple  in  my  thought 
forever,  an  undying  part  of  happy  memories." 

"  In  the  worlds  of  wonderment  where  I  dwell 
I  explore  life  with  my  hands ; 
I  recognize,  and  am  happy ; 
My  fingers  are  ever  athirst  for  the  earth, 
And  drink  up  its  wonders  with  delight, 
Draw  out  earth's  dear  delights ; 
My  feet  are  charged  with  the  murmur, 
The  throb,  of  all  things  that  grow. 

"  This  is  touch,  this  quivering, 
This  flame,  this  ether, 
This  glad  rush  of  blood, 
This  daylight  in  my  heart, 
This  glow  of  sympathy  in  my  palms. 
Thou  blind,  loving,  all-prying  touch, 
Thou  openest  the  book  of  life  to  me. 
The  noiseless  little  noises  of  earth 
Come  with  softest  rustle ; 
The  shy,  sweet  feet  of  life ; 
The  silky  flutter  of  moth  wings 
Against  my  restraining  palm." 

Well  may  she  sing  a  Chant  of  Darkness,  for  in  this  dark 
ness  touch  is  quickened,  and  in  touch  lives  the  deepest 
appreciation  of  things. 

Though  we  cannot  develop  in  every  child  the  wonderful 
sensibility  of  Helen  Keller,  we  can  have  more  respect  for 
the  deep  values  that  lie  hidden  in  touch.  They  are  often 
vague  and  nearly  always  inarticulate.  Because  these  values 
cannot  be  put  into  words  they  have  no  recognition  in  the 
schools ;  but  they  can  be  communicated  by  teachers  who 
show  an  enthusiasm  for  simple  things. 


TOUCH  AND  APPRECIATION  OF  THINGS     115 

The  sense  of  smell  was  perhaps  the  first  to  differentiate 
i  '  ic^ 

itself  from  the  sense  of  touch.    The  end  organ  for  smell 

consists  of  a  specialized  skin,  or  epithelium,  sensitive  to 
gaseous,  chemical  stimuli.  In  the  reptiles  and  early  mam- 
mals the  olfactory  areas  constitute  by  far  the  greater  part 
of  the  cerebral  hemisphere.  Olfactory  experiences  and 
memories  constitute  the  major  part  of  the  stream  of  con- 
sciousness in  these  animals.  The  ancient  and  once  dominant 
character  of  smell  gives  this  sense  a  strange,  compelling 
emotional  force.  But  we  have  come  to  depend  upon  other 
senses  for  information  and  culture,  and  neglect  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  nose.  This  is  probably  inevitable,  but  not  alto- 
gether deserving.  Helen  Keller  declares  that  smell  should 
hold  a  high  place  among  its  sister  senses ;  and  compared 
with  this  wonderful  woman  we  are  surely  smell-blind. 
Every  individual,  except  the  babe  up  to  about  the  age  of 
seven,  has  a  temperamental  exhalation  which  Helen  Keller 
can  detect.  "Human  odors,"  she  says,  "are  as  varied  and 
as  capable  of  recognition  as  hands  and  faces.  The  dear 
odors  of  those  I  love  are  so  definite  and  unmistakable  that 
nothing  can  quite  obliterate  them."  For  the  smell  sensitive 
almost  everything,  even  in  the  mineral  kingdom,  has  a  dis- 
tinctive odor.  Poets  have  often  shown  a  fine  sense  for  the 
odors  of  mountain,  field,  and  flowers,  and  sprinkle  their 
verse  with  the  perfume  of  olfactory  metaphors.  Surely  that 
child  is  richer  in  experience,  and  in  capacity  to  appreciate, 
who  has  sniffed  delicately  or  inhaled  deep  drafts  of  the 
ethereal,  the  aromatic,  and  balsamic  out  of  doors. 

Taste  is  close  cousin  to  smell,  and  depends  upon  reenforce- 
ment  from  smell.  We  can  say  little  of  pertinence  about 
taste,  though  no  doubt  there  is  something  to  be  said.  The 
gustatory  passages  in  Thoreau's  essay  on  "  Wild  Apples  " 
are  particularly  suggestive. 


116  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

The  psychologist  claims  that  the  world  of  discernible 
sound  vibrations  comprises  some  11,000  tones  (and  850 
noises !).  These  occur  in  infinite  combinations,  and  a  mar- 
velous sensory  apparatus,  consisting  of  over  a  score  of  thou- 
sands of  fibers,  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  microscopic 
hairlets,  picks  up  these  varied  vibrations  so  that  they  may 
become  part  of  the  soul.  Sounds  have  an  emotional  power 
second  only  to  odors  and  tactile  impressions.  Music  is  the 
language  of  the  emotions.  Melody  and  modulations  are  felt 
as  well  as  heard,  and  the  life  of  feeling  shrinks  if  they  do 
not  in  many  forms  find  their  way  into  consciousness.  A  child 
suffers  whose  auditory  diet  is  limited  chiefly  to  the  Ameri- 
can drawled,  nasal  voice  and  the  noises  of  civilization.  Every 
normal  child  has  an  instinctive  interest  in  sound  as  sound 
or  jingle,  irrespective  of  intellectual  content.  Hence  the 
many  experiments  in  productive  sound-play,  both  vocal  and 
instrumental.  What  is  the  psychology  of  the  universal  joy 
in  running  a  stick  over  a  picket  fence,  or  in  the  trampling 
of  crackling  autumn  leaves  ?  Ideally  the  child  should  be 
surrounded  with  a  richer  range  and  larger  amount  of  music. 
A  good  gramophone  in  every  school,  generously  used,  would 
add  much  to  sensory  development,  but  more  important  still 
is  that  most  marvelous  of  all  sound-producing  instruments, 
the  human  voice.  Melodious  and  modulated  voices  in  teach- 
ers would  inscrutably,  but  none  the  less  vitally,  work  won- 
ders in  the  character  and  sensibilities  of  the  children. 

Finally,  we  come  to  vision,  which  boasts  the  most  exalted 
position  among  the  senses.  It  is  peculiarly  the  intellectual 
sense,  photographic  in  fidelity,  panoramic  in  scope.  It  fur- 
nishes a  wealth  of  material  for  the  imagination.  No  organ 
is  being  strained  more  by  the  progress  of  civilization  than 
the  eye.  The  race  is  becoming  eye-minded.  Elementary 
education  has  long  been  so,  and  too  much  so.  Important  as 


vision  is,  it  lacks  vitality  and  depth.  It  is,  after  all,  objective 
and  superficial  when  compared  with  touch,  which  Diderot 
called,  of  all  the  senses,  the  most  profound  and  philosophical. 
Instruction  which  is  eye-deep  is  not  very  deep,  and  dispro- 
portionate reliance  upon  the  seeing  of  things  and  words 
tends  to  cripple  the  sensory  life  of  the  child,  especially  of 
the  primary  child,  who  is  ear-minded  and  touch-minded 
before  he  is  eye-minded.  Seeing  implies  merely  an  impres- 
sion. Touch  implies  more.  It  implies  an  impression  plus 
an  emotional  glow.  No  one,  of  course,  would  try  to  argue 
away  the  importance  of  keen  visual  perception  and  a  vigor- 
ous visualizing  power,  but  seeing  without  touch  is  innocuous 
and  sophisticated.  Of  primary  importance  are  the  tactile 
and  motor  experiences.  These  alone  can  make  the  physical 
things  tingle  with  values  and  suggestion.  The  child  who 
does  not  have  this  well-stored  background  of  tactile-motor 
experience  may  be  the  man  who,  though  he  has  eyes,  sees 
not.  There  would  not  be  so  many  indifferent  and  inert 
people  in  the  world  if  all  children  could  come  into  a  more 
intimate  and  emotionally  tinged  tactual  contact  with  their 
environment. 

We  are  not  anxious  in  this  chapter  to  make  the  distinc- 
tions of  technical  psychology  between  perception,  sensation, 
sense  feeling,  and  apperception.  We  do  believe,  however, 
that  it  is  important  to  emphasize  the  difference  between 
mere  passive  sense  perception,  or  apprehension,  and  what 
we  may  call  the  appreciation  of  things.  Perception  has  been 
defined  as  a  feeling  of  things  present  to  the  senses.  Appre- 
ciation is  a  feeling  for  things,  —  an  impression  colored  with 
a  subjective  attitude  and  leaving  an  afterglow  of  emotion. 
If  the  schoolroom  is  allowed  to  be  a  word  factory  and  the 
handwork  and  nature  study  become  perfunctory  and  noetic, 
children  will  not  be  as  appreciative  as  they  might.  Teachers 


118  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

and  parents  must  have  not  only  articulate  knowledge  of 
things  but  a  kind  of  enthusiasm  for  things.  They  must 
come  into  the  mood  of  the  psalmist,  and  of  the  poet  who 
said :  "  I  believe  in  the  flesh  and  the  appetite.  Seeing,  hear- 
ing," feeling,  are  miracles,  and  each  part  and  tag  of  me  is  a 
miracle."  It  is  a  common  error  to  think  that  the  emotional 
part  of  our  nature  is  to  be  reserved  for  state  occasions,  for 
weddings,  elections,  and  birthdays.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a 
sensitive  nature  attaches  certain  emotional  sense  feelings 
to  such  simple  stimuli  as  an  isolated  color  or  a  single 
musical  tone. 

One  of  the  besetting  sins  of  the  primary  school  is  lan- 
guor, apathy,  —  apathy  in  speech,  in  movement,  in  action, 
and  apathy  in  perception.  This  springs  from  the  insidious 
overvaluation  of  words.  The  teacher  has  an  overrespect  for 
words,  forgetful  that  they  are  the  technique  and  not  the 
ingredients  of  culture.  This  bookishness  and  wordiness 
start  often  with  the  very  first  day  of  school,  and  develop 
a  precocious  use  and  misuse  of  words  that  amounts  to 
pedantry.  Pestalozzi  realized  that  this  was  one  of  the  evils 
of  primary  education,  and  in  the  year  of  our  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  he  makes  the  two  following  entries 
in  his  diary : 

"  O  God,  who  art  my  father  and  the  father  of  my  child, 
teach  me  to  understand  the  holy,  natural  laws  by  which 
Thou  preparest  us  slowly,  by  means  of  an  innumerable 
variety  of  impressions,  for  the  conceiving  of  exact  and 
complete  ideas  of  which  words  are  but  the  signs ! " 

"Lead  your  child  out  into  nature.  Teach  him  on  the 
hilltops  and  in  the  valleys ;  there  he  will  listen  better.  But 
in  these  hours  of  freedom  let  him  be  taught  by  nature 
rather  than  by  you.  Let  him  fully  realize  that  she  is  the 
real  teacher,  and  that  you  with  your  art  do  nothing  more 


TOUCH  AND  APPRECIATION  OF  THINGS     119 

than  to  walk  quietly  by  her  side.  Should  a  bird  sing,  or  an 
insect  hum  on  a  leaf,  at  once  stop  your  talk.  Birds  and 
insects  are  teaching  him.  You  may  be  silent." 

Education  is  too  often  confounded  with  verbal  instruction 
and  recitation  and  word  drill.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  deepest 
and  most  educative  experiences  are  wordless  contact  with 
things.  The  teacher  may  hold  the  hand  of  the  child,  as 
Pestalozzi  did  when  he  took  his  Jacobli  into  the  mountains, 
and  may  quietly  smile  in  enjoyment  of  the  hum  or  the  song 
or  the  glimmer,  hoping  that  by  suggestion  the  child  may 
catch  the  smile  and  thus  the  beauty;  but  words  are  of 
no  avail.  This  is  what  Stevenson  had  at  heart  when  he 
wrote  his  convincing  apology  for  idlers.  He  spoke  with 
pitying  contempt  of  the  extreme  wordy  busyness  of  the 
schools,  which  tend  to  produce  "a  sort  of  dead-alive,  hack- 
neyed people,  who  are  scarcely  conscious  of  living  except 
in  the  exercise  of  some  conventional  occupation."  "Books 
are  good  enough  in  their  own  way,"  he  says,  "but  they  are 
a  mighty  bloodless  substitute  for  life."  It  is  not  through 
heroic  word  drills,  but  "  by  looking  out  of  his  eyes  and 
hearkening  in  his  ears  with  a  smile  on  his  face  "  that  the 
child  will  acquire  "  the  warm,  palpitating  facts  of  life,"  which 
is  true  education. 

Emotion  is  everything.  If  perception  is  allowed  to  de- 
generate, because  of  the  listlessness  in  schools  and  home, 
into  cold  apprehension,  untold  harm  is  done  to  real  moral 
and  temperamental  development.  We  are  not  pleading  for 
keenness  of  sense  so  much  as  for  emotiveness.  The  senses 
are  considered  as  servants  of  the  body;  they  should  be 
exalted  into  the  service  of  the  soul.  Every  one  feels  the 
beautiful  spirituality  of  Helen  Keller's  nature,  but  it  would 
be  a  sad  error  to  conclude  that  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
she  has  been  shut  out  from  the  world  of  sense.  Read  her 


120  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

fine  encomiums  of  the  black-sheep  senses,  touch  and  smell, 
and  you  will  realize  that  the  very  foundation  of  her 
spiritual  power  is  rooted  in  the  wealth  of  emotion  derived 
from  the  loving  use  of  these  bodily  senses.  One  could  even 
argue  that  her  spirituality  would  have  suffered  had  the 
curtain  of  night  been  raised  from  her  eyes.  Vision  is  so 
objective,  and  may  be  so  superficial,  as  actually  to  handicap 
moral  growth.  It  would  be  a  boon  if  we  could  live  a  little 
more  in  "the  wise,  vital,  thought-quickening  dark,"-  — in 
the  twilight  regions  of  that  most  profoundly  emotional 
Sense,  touch.  Every  atom  of  Helen  Keller's  body  is  a  vibro- 
scope.  Sweet,  beautiful  vibrations  exist  for  her  touch,  and 
we  who  control  the  sensory  development  of  children  should 
heed  her  exhortation : 

"Hold  out  your  hands  to  feel  the  luxury  of  the  sun- 
beams. Press  the  soft  blossoms  against  your  cheek,  and 
finger  their  graces  of  form,  their  delicate  mutability  of 
shape,  their  pliancy  and  freshness.  Expose  your  face  to  the 
aerial  floods  that  sweep  the  heavens,  'inhale  great  drafts 
of  space,'  wonder  —  wonder  at  the  wind's  unwearied 
activity.  Pile  note  on  note  the  infinite  music  that  flows 
increasingly  to  your  soul  from  the  tactual  sonorities  of  a 
thousand  branches  and  tumbling  waters.  How  can  the 
world  be  shriveled  when  this  most  profound  emotional 
sense,  touch,  is  faithful  to  its  service  ?  I  am  sure  that  if 
a  fairy  bade  me  choose  between  the  sense  of  sight  and  that 
of  touch,  I  would  not  part  with  the  warm,  endearing  con- 
tact of  human  hands,  or  the  wealth  of  form,  the  mobility 
and  fullness  that  press  into  my  palms." 

The  appreciation  of  things  mounts  to  its  highest  flight  in 
the  spiritual  and  poetic  nature.  Primitive  man  actually  wor- 
shiped, and  with  deep  feeling,  mute  rocks  and  cliffs.  For 
Wordsworth,  even  the  loose  stones  that  pave  the  common 


TOUCH  AND  APPKECIATION  OF  THINGS     121 

highway  respired  with  an  inner  meaning.  When  the  spirit 
of  appreciation  wells  up  in  the  poet,  it  knows  no  bounds. 
It  reaches  out  and  embraces  all  the  manifold  objects  of 
nature,  animate  and  inanimate,  —  the  high  vibrating  stars, 
the  rolling  ocean,  the  gorgeous  clouds  of  sunset,  the  grow- 
ing wheat,  silent  plants,  and  creatures  dumb.  For  all  of 
these  the  poet  feels  a  high  and  tender  kinship,  endows  them 
with  one  kindred  impulse,  and  speaks  in  words  of  almost 
loving  companionship  to  the  mountain  daisy  or  to  the  wee 
cowering  beastie  in  the  stibble.  For  Burns  even  the  mousie 
is  a  poor  earthborn  companion  and  fellow  mortal.  Sidney 
Lanier,  in  his  fervent  poem,  "  Sunrise,"  addresses  with  affec- 
tionate appeal  the  "  Sweet,  burly  barked,  man-bodied  trees, 
O  beloved,  my  live  oaks,"  and  begs  of  their  foliage  to 
teach  him  the  terms  of  silence.  "  Ye  ministers  meet  for  each 
passion  that  grieves,  friendly,  sisterly,  sweetheart  leaves ! " 
Here  appreciation  rises  to  the  ecstatic  pitch  of  animistic 
comradeship.  This  is  the  poet's  privilege  and  the  child's 
inclination ;  for  poets  are  childlike,  and  the  child  is  by 
nature  a  poet. 

The  instinctive  psychoses  so  intimately  associated  with 
touch  make  this  sense  extremely  important  for  morality  as 
well  as  aesthetic  enjoyment.  For  morality  has  its  being  in 
our  instinctive,  impulsive,  emotional  attitudes,  —  not  only 
attitudes  toward  persons,  but  toward  things,  minerals, 
plants,  and  animals.  In  some  inscrutable  way  refinement 
of  sensibility  is  correlated  with  delicacy  of  moral  sentiment, 
and  coldness  of  perception  with  coldness  of  character.  The 
very  etymology  and  double  connotation  of  adjectives  like 
coarse,  supple,  dainty,  rude,  and  delicate,  betray  a  funda- 
mental relationship  between  tactile  and  ethical  qualities. 
Manners  and  wood  both  are  smooth  or  polished;  and  conduct, 
lace,  and  wire  may  all  be  fine.  It  cannot  be  demonstrated 


122  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

in  the  laboratory,  but  undoubtedly  the  tactile  tenderness 
with  which  a  rough  street  boy  handles  a  collection  of 
delicate  butterflies  in  some  way  irradiates  into  the  sphere 
of  general  conduct  and  softens  his  deportment. 

There  are  tactile-ethical  values  in  nature  study  and 
handwork:  the  tactile  attitudes  of  tenderness  and  pro- 
tection which  a  boy  feels  for  fragile  birds'  eggs  carefully 
stored,  perhaps  with  a  caress,  in  cotton ;  the  perfect 
polishing  of  a  wood  surface ;  the  respect  for  the  fiber  and 
individual  resistant  qualities  of  material ;  the  rounding  of 
edges  and  corners  for  comfort  and  beauty ;  the  obedience 
to  lines,  drawings,  and  so  forth ;  the  accuracy  and  truth- 
fulness in  fitting  edges  ;  the  general  submission  to  the  laws 
of  nature  whenever  a  piece  of  raw  material  is  attacked. 
We  can  suggest  rather  than  demonstrate  the  important 
bearings  of  all  this. 

See  how  a  child  will  stroke  a  smooth  surface  with  half 
awesome  delight.  What  does  it  mean  ?  It  means  that  life 
is  more  than  words.  In  due  time,  of  course,  the  child 
should  be  able  to  speak  and  spell  a  declarative  sentence, 
stating  that  the  sensation  felt  exquisite.  Sometime  he  may 
even  discuss  whether  "  rapturous "  is  a  better  adjective. 
But,  after  all,  the  adjective  is  but  a  tag  or  a  symbol.  The 
sensation  itself  is  unutterable.  Character  is  made  up  of 
attitudes,  appreciations ;  and  verbal  images,  although  very 
essential  to  abstract  thinking,  are  idle  and  void  unless  they 
are  born  of  concrete  contact. 

The  psychology  of  peoples  has  been  molded  by  the  great 
silent  geographical  and  geological  features  ever  present  in 
their  environment.  The  prairie  is  in  the  Indian,  the  moun- 
tain in  the  Swiss,  the  sea  in  the  Eskimo.  The  qualities 
of  things  great  and  small,  visual  and  auditory,  but  espe- 
cially tactual,  by  some  half -mystical  process  sink  through 


TOUCH  AND  APPKECIATIOX  OF  THINGS    123 

the  thin  layer  of  the  intellect  into  the  deeper  strata  of  the 
heart,  especially  the  heart  of  the  child. 

Since  the  process  is  half  mystical  it  baffles  descriptive 
psychology,  but  the  poet  seems  to  know  how  to  tell  it. 
The  following  is  selected  from  a  poem  by  Walt  Whitman, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  understanding  things  ever  written 
about  childhood. 

There  was  a  child  went  forth  every  day, 

And  the  first  object  he  looked  upon,  that  object  he  became, 

And  that  object  became  part  of  him  for  the  day  or  a  certain  part  of 

the  day, 
Or  for  many  years  or  stretching  cycles  of  years. 

The  early  lilacs  became  part  of  this  child, 

And  grass  and  white  and  red  morning-glories,  and  white  and  red 

clover,  and  the  song  of  the  phoebe  bird, 
And,  the  third-month  lambs  and  the  sow's  pink-faint  litter,  and  the 

mare's  foal  and  the  cow's  calf, 

And  the  noisy  brood  of  the  barnyard  or  by  the  mire  of  the  pond  side, 
And  the  fish  suspending  themselves  so  curiously  below  there,  and 

the  beautiful  curious  liquid, 
And  the  water  plants  with  their  graceful  flat  heads,  all  became  part 

of  him. 

His  own  parents,  he  that  had  fathered  him  and  she  that  had  conceived 

him  in  her  womb  and  birthed  him, 
They  gave  this  child  more  of  themselves  than  that, 
They  gave  him  afterward  every  day,  they  became  part  of  him. 
The  mother  at  home  quietly  placing  the  dishes  on  the  supper  table, 
The  mother  with  mild  words,  clean  her  cap  and  gown,  a  wholesome 

odor  falling  off  her  person  and  clothes  as  she  walks  by, 
The  father,  strong,  self-sufficient,  manly,  mean,  angered,  unjust, 

The  strata  of  colored  clouds,  the  long  bar  of  maroon-tint  away 
solitary  by  itself,  the  spread  of  purity  it  lies  motionless  in, 

The  horizon's  edge,  the  flying  sea  crow,  the  fragrance  of  salt  marsh 
and  shore  mud, 

These  became  part  of  that  child  who  went  forth  every  day,  and  who 
now  goes,  and  will  always  go  forth  every  day. 


124  THE  GENETIC  BACKGROUND 

It  would  spoil  this  poem  to  comment  on  it  analytically. 
Could  there  be  a  finer  statement  of  faith  in  education,  of 
faith  in  the  subtle  power  of  all  things  upon  the  growing 
child?  Heredity  is  only  half.  The  teacher,  too,  becomes 
part  of  the  child  who  goes  forth  every  day  to  school,  and 
in  largest  measure  if  she  communicates  to  him  a  loving 
appreciation  of  the  commonplace  things  which  will  always 
surround  him. 


PART  THREE 

THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

CHAPTER  IX 

DRAWING 

The  period  of  childhood  is  a  period  of  self-revealing 
expression.  One  of  the  most  characteristic  and  interesting 
forms  of  such  expression  is  drawing. 

Spontaneous  drawing  is  really  a  form  of  play,  and  in  the 
early  years  children  need  about  as  little  instruction  in  draw- 
ing as  they  do  in  any  play.  It  is  instinctive  for  a  child  to 
test  his  powers,  to  externalize  himself,  to  leave  a  mark.  He 
takes  instinctive  delight  in  being  a  cause,  and  even  before 
his  first  birthday  he  may  seize  a  piece  of  chalk  and  scrawl 
with  it. 

These  earliest  scribbles  are  of  course  an  expression  of  the 
instinct  of  workmanship  hardly  less  crude  than  the  random, 
aimless  kicking  of  legs  and  brandishing  of  arms  in  the  crib. 
There  may  be  an  element  of  imitation  in  the  activity,  but 
there  is  no  conscious  purpose  or  design. 

The  scribble  period,  according  to'Lukens,  who  studied 
and  classified  hundreds  of  children's  spontaneous  drawings, 
lasts  until  about  the  age  of  four.  If  a  child  did  not  rise  to 
a  higher  type  of  expression  in  this  time,  it  would  be  a  case 
of  arrested  development.  Just  as  his  play  becomes  more  and 
more  expressive  of  ideas  and  models,  so  does  his  penciling ; 

125 


126   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

he  does  not  forever  shove  and  fumble  his  blocks,  but  he 
arranges  them  in  rows,  walls,  and  pillars.  That  is,  he  exter- 
nalizes mental  states  in  objective  construction ;  and  what  is 
drawing  but  this  ?  Even  when  he  crawls  about  on  all  fours 
in  imitation  of  some  quadruped,  he  is  indulging  in  a  form 
of  representative  behavior  which  is  psychologically  akin  to 


FIG.  23.    SCRIBBLE  AND  REPRESENTATION 

A,  airship  ;  B,  hippopotamus  (a  bad  one) ;  C,  comet;  Z),  comet's  tail ;  E,  dog; 

F,  balloon;  G,  cap;  H,  hippopotamus  (a  good  one) ;  /,  children  on  a  giant's 

back ;  J,  spider 

drawing ;  for  primitive  drawing  is  a  kind  of  pantomime  with 
a  pencil  point,  or  graphic  gesture.  Early  childhood  drawing 
is  essentially  language,  and  when  the  child  gives  his  scrawls 
names,  they  can  no  longer  be  called  mere  scribbles. 

In  the  second  period  of  its  development  drawing  becomes 
representative.  This  representative  stage  falls  between  the 
ages  of  four  to  about  ten,  but  there  is  no  sudden  transition 
from  one  stage  to  the  other.  In  fact,  the  scribbles  of  the  early 


DRAWING 


127 


period  are  themselves  often  crudely  representative,  as  indi- 
cated in  Fig.  23,  where  the  marks  stand  for  a  dozen  different 
things,  from  a  hippopotamus  to  an  airship.  A  kindergartner 
once  took  a  band  of  children,  all  under  five  years  of  age,  to 
see  a  cow.  They  were  asked  to  draw  what  they  saw.  At 
first  sight  the  drawings  looked  like  a  collection  of  the  rudest 


HORN 


TAIL 


HORN 


FIG.  24.    A  Cow- 
Kindergarten  representation  after  a  trip  to  the  dairyman 

scrawls,  but  close  examination  showed  evidences  of  articulate 
expression,  —  here  and  there  a  controlled  mark  to  represent 
the  head,  tail,  or  udder  of  the  cow  (Fig.  24).  As  Empedocles 
explained  the  development  of  animals  by  the  assemblage  of 
their  constituent  parts,  so  even  in  this  chaos  there  was  an 
evolution  of  definite  wholes,  —  drawing  in  the  making. 

The  most  primitive  scribbles  of  the  nursery  are  made  in 
pure  enjoyment  of  motor  activity  for  its  own  sake,  but  the 


128   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMAKY  SCHOOL 

kindergarten  and  primary  child  awakening  to  a  new  sense 
of  his  powers  makes  marks  in  the  spirit  of  true  language. 
He  is  in  the  golden  age  of  imitative,  dramatic,  and  crea- 
tive expression.  All  his  play  is  full  of  self-illusion,  and 
so  is  his  drawing.  Form  is  for  him  but  the  symbol,  not 
the  mirror  of  reality ;  hence  his  splendid  disdain  for  accu- 
rate outline  and  his  beautifully  naive  interest  in  the  mean- 
ing or  the  story.  Unembarrassed  by  compunctions  about 
fidelity  and  proportion,  he  draws  out  of  his  head  and  out 
of  his  heart. 

We  may  smile  at  his  crude  productions,  but  for  him  they 
glow  with  the  warmth  of  his  own  personality  and  throb 
with  life  and  action.  Drawing  for  him  is  language,  not  in- 
different and  clumsy  portrayal  of  the  objective  world.  He 
draws  what  he  knows,  not  what  he  sees.  He  draws  the  foot 
in  the  shoe  and  the  core  in  the  apple,  for  though  invisi- 
ble he  knows  they  are  there.  He  will  even  draw  action,  — 
dancing,  sunlight,  and  the  wind.  He  loves  to  project  his  ex- 
periences where  he  can  enjoy  them  and  make  them  more 
distinct  to  consciousness.  By  this  process  of  externalizing 
the  internal  he  comes  into  nearer  kinship  with  his  environ- 
ment. Drawing  is  therefore  highly  educative ;  but  if  it  is 
not  related  to  his  own  experiences,  and  ceases  to  be  self- 
expressive,  it  becomes  merely  a  reproduction  of  the  external, 
and  cannot  stimulate  growth.  This  at  least  is  the  conclusion 
of  the  psychological  point  of  view. 

The  logical  viewpoint  ignores  the  child's  natural  interest 
and  misinterprets  his  capacities.  It  regards  drawing  as  a 
technique  to  be  imparted  to  him  in  a  progressive,  systematic 
manner,  beginning  with  simple  straight  lines,  curves,  angles, 
and  elementary  geometric  forms.  The  argument  is  like  that 
which  used  to  be  applied  to  the  teaching  of  reading:  The 
English  language  is  made  up  of  letters,  let  us  teach  these 


DRAWING  129 

simple  elements  first,  and  proceed  logically  from  them  to 
syllables,  words,  and  sentences. 

Froebel,  whose  writings  often  contain  a  singular  confusion 
of  the  logical  and  psychological  points  of  view,  said:  "As 
the  drawing  of  lines  precedes  the  drawing  of  figures,  so  also 
there  proceeds  from  it  the  invention  of  forms,  ascending  to 
imitation  and  copying;  and  further,  after  the  pupil  has 
made  the  required  progress  in  geometry  and  mathematics, 
perspective  drawing,  instruction  regarding  light  and  shade 
as  well  as  drawing  from  nature,  landscape  drawing,  etc., 
will  follow.  The  last  aim,  as  everywhere,  is  the  representa- 
tion of  man;  that  is,  the  representation  of  the  human  figure." 
In  a  certain  kindergarten  manual,  still  widely  used,  the 
author  recommends  that  even  "in  free  drawing  the  child 
should  use  a  line  of  a  certain  kind  or  of  several  kinds  indi- 
cated, with  some  restriction  grouping  these  either  to  sym- 
metrical forms  or  to  representations  of  objects ;  that  is, 
so-called  forms  of  life." 

It  sounds  very  logical  that  simple  lines  should  be  mas- 
tered first,  and  that  cylinders  and  cones  should  be  mastered 
before  trying  to  draw  a  complex  thing  like  a  tree,  whose 
trunks  and  branches  are  combinations  of  cylinders  and 
cones.  Such  pedagogy  seems  very  reasonable  and  consider- 
ate, but  it  is  really  timid  and  false,  because  it  thwarts  the 
natural  manifestation  and  expansion  of  the  child's  power. 

The  primary  child  is  in  the  expressive,  language  period  of 
development,  and  every  opportunity  for  expression  should 
be  open  to  him.  If  we  limit  him  to  a  line  of  a  certain  kind, 
or  to  blocked-out  squares  or  certain  prescribed  subjects,  his 
drawing  will  become  rigid,  wooden,  cramped,  and  expres- 
sionless. Give  him  a  mood,  something  to  say,  something  to 
illustrate ;  give  him  large  undemarcated  spaces,  like  the 
blackboard,  so  his  expression  may  be  full  and  free.  He  will 


130   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PKIMARY  SCHOOL 

flinch  at  nothing,  and  with  fine  abandon  he  will  make  the 
chalk  tell  his  experiences,  even  though  they  may  be  as  com- 
plicated as  a  circus  parade.  Froebel  would  make  the  human 
figure  the  last  aim ;  with  the  child  it  is  the  very  first,  for 
his  interests  and  not  his  capacities  determine  what  he  will 
draw.  Lukens,  who  collected  over  twelve  hundred  sponta- 
neous drawings  by  children  under  ten,  found  that  75  per 
cent  of  the  specimens  contained  the  human  figure.  If  draw- 
ing were  mere  tracery  imitation  of  external  objects,  the 
child  might  balk  at  difficult  subjects,  and  surely  he  would 
not  draw  such  invisible  things  as.  the  wind,  the  sunlight,  and 
motion.  But  he  draws  what  he  knows  and  what  he  feels, 
and  there  is  no  better  way  of  developing  his  knowledge 
and  feeling  than  by  giving  him  a  chance  to  express  both. 

Take,  for  example,  the  sense  of  humor,  which  receives 
such  scant  recognition  in  school  life.  Little  children  have 
a  very  decided  and  promising  fund  of  humor,  even  though 
the  opposite  has  been  supposed,  and  those  who  doubt  the 
fact  will  perhaps  be  partly  convinced  by  the  accompany- 
ing funny  drawings,  which  were  made  without  instruc- 
tion or  suggestion  by  kindergarten  and  primary  children. 
Fig.  25,  B,  represents  a  girl,  who  is  funny  because  she  has 
such  a  gigantic  hand ;  Fig.  25,  (7,  is  a  half  cow,  with  only 
two  legs ;  Fig.  25,  Z>,  is  rather  obscure,  but  is  comical  to 
the  artist,  who  said  that  it  was  "a  strawberry  all  squeezed 
up  from  the  rain,  and  a  funny  pig  with  his  nose  sticking  up 
and  a  flag  on  his  back."  All  these  drawings  were  made  by 
kindergarten  children. 

Most  of  the  other  pictures  in  Figs.  25,  26,  and  27  were 
drawn  by  first-grade  and  second-grade  children.  They 
speak  for  themselves,  and  the  sympathetic  sense  of  humor 
of  the  reader  must  be  depended  upon  to  do  them  full 
justice.  It  is  unfortunate  that  we  cannot  reproduce  the 


FIG.  25.    HUMOROUS  DRAWINGS 


131 


132   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMARY  SCHOOL 

chuckles  and  the  expressions  of  extreme  delight  which 
sometimes  accompanied  the  working  out  of  these  comical 
conceptions. 

The  chief  ingredients  of  elementary  humor  are  embodied 
in  these  drawings :  grotesqueness,  both  in  color  and  design 
(for  example,  see  Fig.  27,  C~)  ;  incongruity,  in  the  haber- 
dashered  horse  (Fig.  27, 1?);  exaggeration,  in  the  prolonga- 
tion and  uniting  of  the  tails  of  the  two  dogs  (Fig.  26,  A)  ; 
surprise  and  unexpected  action,  in  the  man  who  stands  on 
tiptoe  and  manages  before  your  eyes  to  kick  his  hat  from  his 
own  head  (Fig.  25,  .£")  ;  physical  discomfort,  in  the  boy 
about  to  be  struck  in  the  nose  by  a  ball  (Fig.  26,  Z>),  in 
the  dog  with  the  can  tied  to  his  tail  (Fig.  25,  ^4),  and  cer- 
tainly in  the  poor  man  (Fig.  27,  Z>)  with  his  hands  full 
of  newspapers,  who  is  being  tormented  from  head  to  foot 
by  a  monkey,  a  bee,  and  a  dog,  with  prospects  of  further 
discomfort  from  the  vulture  overhead. 

Among  the  third-grade  drawings  are  indications  of  hu- 
morous situations  as  well  as  simple  character  sketches.  In 
Fig.  26,  2?,  we  see  three  boys  indulging  in  antics  on  a  stage, 
and  a  giant's  finger,  represented  by  the  line  on  the  left,  is 
dragging  the  boys  behind  the  scenes.  Fig.  26,  (7,  represents 
a  goat  who  wanted  to  have  some  fun  on  the  Fourth  of  July, 
and  who  therefore  butted  a  hot  stove  among  firecrackers 
and  skyrockets ! 

The  ten-year-old  boy  who  drew  Fig.  27,  A,  cannot  discuss 
the  principle  of  mistaken  identity  in  comedy,  but  he  ex- 
plains the  humor  of  his  drawing  in  these  words :  "  The 
funniest  thing  I  ever  saw  is  this  picture  becous  it  has  its 
colars  in  such  funney  places.  I  think  it  is  the  funnist  thing 
becous  it  is  to  represent  'Jack  be  nimble  Jack  be  quick  Jack 
jump  over  the  candle  stick,'  when  it  is  not  Jack  at  all,  only 
a  picture  of  a  kangaroo  jumping  over  a  candle  stick." 


133 


u 


CQ 


134 


DRAWING  135 

This  is  no  place  to  go  into  a  discussion  of  the  interesting 
problem  of  humor  in  children,  but  these  drawings  strongly 
declare  the  existence  and  educational  possibilities  of  their 
humor  sense.  It  should  be  said  that  these  drawings  are  not 
unusual ;  that  they  are  little  more  than  casual  selections  out 
of  a  small  number  of  specimens.  The  sense  of  humor  is 
present  in  all  normal  children,  and  drawing  furnishes  a  fine 
avenue  for  its  expression.  We  asked  a  boy  of  five  if  he 
could  draw  something  funny  for  us.  "  Can  I ! "  he  said.  "  My 
head  is  just  full  of  funny  things" ;  and  soon  he  was  at  work 
with  absorbed  attention  and  chuckling  laughter.  One  of 
his  productions  he  called  the  "  Duke  de  Callaboose,"  and  he 
proceeded  at  once  to  dramatize  him.  The  serious  school 
may  have  no  place  for  the  dramatic  rendition,  but  drawing, 
with  all  its  humorous  life  and  action,  is  in  a  sense  a  mild 
and  cathartic  kind  of  dramatization. 

Humor  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  and  beneficent  traits 
in  human  nature.  In  its  highest  forms  it  means  sympathy, 
insight,  philosophy,  originality ;  but  these  higher  expres- 
sions are  derived  from  the  lower,  and  children's  humor  is 
not  to  be  despised  simply  because  it  is  primitive.  Moreover, 
it  is  not  nearly  so  crude  as  we  are  accustomed  to  think, 
and  it  responds  wonderfully  to  suggestion  and  cultivation. 
Considering  the  limited  experience  of  primary  children, 
their  comic  productions  are  very  creditable.  The  best  of 
them  are  positively  creative  in  spirit.  The  attention  of  the 
children  while  they  worked  out  their  comic  inventions  was 
unusually  intense.  This  is  itself  a  significant  fact. 

Humor  is  too  precious  to  go  to  waste  and  to  be  left 
altogether  to  chance.  The  child  who  has  a  good  supply  of 
it  will  meet  life  better  than  the  child  without  it.  The 
child's  natural  genius  leads  him  to  select  the  salient  and 
the  vital.  The  caricaturist  is  the  keen  but  smiling  man  of 


136   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 


insight  in  whom  this  genius  has  not  atrophied,  and  who 
can  express  it  through  his  drawings  as  he  crudely  did  when 
he  was  a  child.  The  drawings  of  Figs.  28  and  29  were 
made  by  a  grammar-school  boy,  and  represent  the  fruition 
of  the  humorous  drawings  of  the  primary  grade. 

Drawing  has  a  threefold  significance,  says  Dr.  Burnham 
in  his  excellent  article  on  the  hygiene  of  the  subject :  "  first, 


FlG.  28.    CAESAR  REFUSING  THE  CROWN 

A  cartoon  by  a  grammar-school  boy 

as  a  form  of  natural  reaction  to  feeling ;  second,  as  giving 
the  satisfaction  which  comes  from  productive  activity  and 
social  expression ;  third,  as  developing  an  interest  in  art 
through  the  possibilities  of  imitation.  From  the  ordinary 
point  of  view  of  hygiene  this  is  vague,  but  the  psychiatrist 
and  the  teacher  who  appreciate  the  importance  to  health 
of  a  normal  life  of  feeling,  of  the  satisfaction  from  suc- 
cessful activity  and  the  balance  which  results  from  culture 
interests,  cannot  fail  to  see  the  positive  hygienic  significance 


DBA  WING 


137 


of  drawing  and  similar  forms  of  artistic  expression."  The 
humorous  drawings  described  above  offer  a  very  good 
illustration  of  all  these  points. 

Among  the  forms  of  artistic  expression  to  which  drawing 
is  closely  related  may  be  mentioned  dramatic  impersonation, 
dancing,  paper  cutting,  paper  tearing,  clay  modeling,  writ- 
ing, and  even  oral  language.  Some  of  these  relationships 


FIG.  29.   A  DULL  TEACHER 
Another  caricature  by  the  same  boy 

we  have  already  suggested.  What  a  child  imitates  with 
his  whole  body  in  dramatic  play  he  will  gladly  portray 
on  the  blackboard;  or  what  he  has  just  drawn  he  will 
readily  impersonate,  as  did  the  author  of  the  "  Duke  de 
Callaboose."  Teachers  could  work  out  very  good  exercises 
embodying  the  reciprocal  use  of  these  two  modes  of  artistic 
speech,  —  drawing  and  dramatic  play.  Children  like  to  talk 
about  what  they  have  drawn,  and  their  sketches  furnish 
an  excellent  opportunity  for  enthusiastic  language  work, 


138   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMARY  SCHOOL 

conversation  with  a  real  motive  and  subject.  Expressionless 
children  who  can  usually  be  drawn  out  only  with  diffi- 
culty can  be  awakened  to  fluent  oral  language  through 
spontaneous  drawings. 

The  production  and  interpretation  of  pictures,  it  is  ad- 
mitted, preceded  the  printed  page  in  the  history  of  the  race, 
and  so  it  should  be  with  the  child.  The  folly  of  bringing 
the  technicalities  of  reading  and  writing  to  unorganized 
minds  is  nowhere  more  evident  than  in  the  character  of 
children's  early  drawings.  The  detail,  the  sequence  and 
organization  of  the  printed  page,  are  conspicuously  absent 
in  these  drawings ;  but  the  advantage  of  drawing  lies  pre- 
cisely in  the  fact  that  it  is  a  more  instinctive  and  fluid 
medium  of  expression,  —  that  it  favors  rather  than  impedes 
.  mental  organization.  A  child  whose  reading  and  writing 
lessons  have  been  preceded  by  a  liberal  use  of  free  drawing 
comes  with  a  mind  better  organized  for  these  less  instinc- 
tive tasks.  The  good  teacher  will  make  many  connections 
between  the  pictographic  and  the  typographic  art.  She  will 
have  children  label  their  drawings  with  words  and  phrases, 
and  their  words  with  drawings.  She  will  have  them  fill  out 
their  sentences,  rebuslike,  with  sketches ;  and  will  allow 
them  to  illustrate  in  their  own  way  the  readers  and  dic- 
tionaries which  they  will  make.  Stories  told  by  words  can 
later  be  retold  by  chalk  or  crayon,  and  handwork  may  be 
both  preceded  and  supplemented  by  drawings.  In  a  follow- 
ing chapter  we  shall  show  how  the  work  in  writing  can 
make  many  connections  with  drawing ;  but  even  if  such 
connections  could  not  be  made,  large  free-hand  drawing 
would  still  have  the  great  advantage  of  establishing  a 
poise  and  muscular  control  which  will  facilitate  greatly  the 
acquisition  of  the  technique  of  penmanship.  Drawing  gives 
the  fundamental  muscles  their  needed  development. 


DRAWING  139 

But  we  must  always  come  back  to  the  vital  point,  that 
the  supreme  value  of  drawing  for  primary  children  lies  in 
the  fact  that  it  is  a  fluid  medium  of  expression  for  both 
thought  and  feeling.  If  the  teacher,  in  blind  obedience 
to  mimeographed  prescriptions  or  the  course  of  study,  uses 
drawing  in  a  formal  manner,  aiming  chiefly  at  the  mastery 
of  technical  ability,  the  subject  loses  its  chief  value  for  little 
children.  Drawing  in  the  primary  school  should  be  regarded 
as  an  elastic  vehicle  of  expression,  not  as  a  kind  of  motor 
dexterity.  It  should  link  itself  to  the  children's  own  inter- 
ests, images,  emotions,  and  should  bespeak  these  rather  than 
a  cunningly  planned  system  of  logical  adult  exactions. 

Many  of  the  systems  in  use  at  this  day  make  this  in- 
sidious mistake  of  trying  to  suit  the  technique  of  drawing 
to  the  child,  instead  of  simply  giving  the  child  a  free  and 
less-charted  opportunity  for  real  expression.  These  sys- 
tems often  look  modern,  and  are  in  reality  superior  to  the 
old  stigmographic  and  network  methods,  but  still  they  fail 
to  appreciate  the  significance  of  a  volume  of  free  expressive 
drawing  during  the  golden  period  of  artistic  illusion. 

All  truly  expressive  motor  activity  has  a  deeply  educative 
effect  which  cannot  be  judged  by  the  ephemeral  outward 
results.  This  is  especially  true  of  drawing  and  paper  cut- 
ting, if  they  are  abundantly  used.  Both  favor  good  posture, 
decisive  muscular  control,  and  self-reliant  executiveness. 
To  successfully  draw  or  cut  what  he  thinks  or  feels,  has  a 
profound  reflex  effect  upon  the  ethical  nature  of  the  little 
artist,  giving  him  a  sense  of  power  and  that  fine  feeling  of 
moral  joy  which  go  with  all  artistic  production.  The  spirit  in 
which  the  paper  cuttings  in  Fig.  30  were  made  was  enough 
to  justify  them,  irrespective  of  all  technical  considerations. 
The  second-grade  children  who  made  these  drawings  were 
of  many  different  nationalities,  and  came  from  wretched 


homes  in  a  large  manufacturing  town.  The  class  had  been 
studying  the  subject  of  transportation,  and  what  they  felt 
and  knew  they  expressed  by  their  fingers  with  wonderful 
eagerness  and  ease.  It  took  them  only  a  very  few  minutes 
to  take  out  their  materials  and  cut  all  these  vehicles  and 
put  them  in  the  visitor's  hands.  Thanks  to  the  atmosphere 
and  instruction  of  the  school,  these  children  cut  paper  ex- 
pressively with  about  as  much  assurance  and  alacrity  as 
they  spoke  sentences. 

This  is  the  ideal  for  primary  drawing.  When  drawing 
ceases  to  be  merely  a  prescriptive  exercise,  and  becomes  a 
natural,  easy  means  of  expression,  then  it  will  do  its  most 
for  the  education  of  the  child.  Drawing  instruction  in  the 
public  schools  should  not  become  "  the  grave  of  talent 
and  naturalness."  Chamberlain  quotes  Dr.  Heim  as  saying, 
"  Many  a  fifteen-year-old  boy  and  many  an  adult  can,  for 
example,  no  longer  draw  the  picture  of  a  bird  which  at  the 
age  of  from  five  to  ten  years  he  was  able  to  make  before 
any  instruction  in  drawing." 

Why  is  this  ?  Chamberlain  thinks  because  "  the  delight 
in  drawing  which  reigned  in  earlier  years  has  been  sup- 
pressed under  the  weight  of  method  and  direction.  The 
child's  own  book  filled  with  innumerable  sketches  of  almost 
every  object  disappears  before  the  sheet  with  the  correctly 
drawn  ornament  or  geometrical  figure.  Life  no  longer  calls 
to  him  to  represent  it ;  the  deadest  of  dead  things  are  fash- 
ioned by  him  at  the  beck  of  others."  It  may  be  added 
that  even  leaves,  vegetables,  and  fruit  may  be  half-dead 
things  if  the  children  have  no  artistic  mood  or  motive  in 
their  production. 

We  must  preserve  the  na'ive  delight  and  daring  of  natural 
childish  drawing.  At  about  the  age  of  ten  the  child  per- 
haps inevitably  takes  some  interest  in  technique.  He  sees 


2    t- 

*    S, 

<£ 


141 


142   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMAEY  SCHOOL 

the  disparity  between  the  reality  and  his  representation  of 
it,  and  the  period  of  self-conscious  criticism  sets  in.  This 
is,  according  to  Lukens,  the  third  stage  in  the  evolution  of 
drawing,  which  may  be  followed  by  a  fourth  stage,  begin- 
ning about  the  fifteenth  year  or  later,  "  when  for  some 
fortunate  individuals,  favored  by  environment  or  other 
stimulus,  adolescence  exhibits  a  recrudescence  of  the  old 
creative  power,  a  reinvigoration  of  the  pristine  love  of 
producing";  but  for  most  people  the  golden  age  of  ex- 
pressiveness, with  its  enchantment  of  artistic  self-illusion, 
vanishes  forever. 

Inability  to  draw  is  almost  universal,  and  even  many  of 
those  who  can  draw  fairly  well  in  the  art  class,  do  not 
carry  this  power  into  their  lives,  do  not  enliven  their  letters 
with  sketches,  or,  if  they  are  teachers,  do  not  talk  with 
the  chalk  in  that  daring,  suggestive  way  which  fascinates 
children  and  vivifies  all  instruction.  It  is  as  if  drawing 
were  a  dead  language,  which,  like  Latin,  remains  dead  even 
after  years  of  study  of  grammar  and  technique.  Or  have 
niggardliness  in  the  use  of  drawing,  and  the  unpsycho- 
logical  methods  of  presentation,  developed  a  kind  of  com- 
pulsive fear  and  embarrassment,  equivalent  to  stuttering 
in  oral  language  ?  There  is  no  need  of  overlaboring  the 
suggestion,  but  the  fact  remains  that  the  use  of  drawing  as 
a  means  of  expression  suffers  almost  universal  arrest  and 
atrophy.  "For  every  ten  geniuses  of  drawing  in  the 
nursery,  there  remains  hardly  one  in  the  high  school.  We 
are  killing  the  art  that  made  art."  Even  children  in  the 
kindergarten,  working  freely  with  the  broad  side  of  the 
chalk,  will,  after  a  little  practice,  produce  landscapes  pos- 
sessing a  real  if  elusive  element  of  creativeness  in  them, 
pictures  which  might  at  least  find  a  place  in  some  collec- 
tions of  impressionistic  art.  And  when  steaming  battleships, 


DRAWING  143 

fighting  Indians,  and  running  deer  are  drawn,  the  lines 
are  often  salient  and  dramatic  enough  to  be  called  truly 
artistic.  The  spirit  and  the  power  which  are  latent  in 
these  drawings  it  is  the  duty  of  the  schools  to  nourish. 
Nowhere  does  Schiller's  observation  seem  more  applicable, 
that  if  we  all  lived  up  to  the  promise  of  childhood,  we 
should  all  be  geniuses. 


CHAPTER  X 

DRAMATIC  EXPRESSION 

The  purpose  of  the  introduction  of  dramatic  play  into 
the  schoolroom,  like  so  many  good  things  too  enthusiasti- 
cally received,  is  being  sadly  misunderstood.  The  teacher 
with  initiative  seizes  upon  the  suggestion  without  due 
consideration,  interprets  a  bit  of  literature,  persuades  the 
children  to  memorize  her  interpretation,  and  presents  a  fin- 
ished product  to  a  host  of  admiring  mothers  who  are  unfit 
to  criticize  its  educational  value. 

Dramatic  play,  the  strength  of  which  lies  in  artistic 
elusiveness,  fluidity,  and  personal  interpretation,  is  a  con 
structive  art,  and  in  the  process  of  construction  lies  its 
value.  The  inspired  artist  who  gives  birth  to  a  masterpiece 
projects  it  but  once  upon  the  canvas ;  the  victorious  sculptor 
destroys  the  mold  that  there  may  be  no  imitators. 

Dramatic  play,  to  be  valuable,  should  be  born  of  the 
child's  imaginative  genius  and  should  bear  the  stamp  of 
its  crudity.  It  should  be  bold,  suggestive,  primitive,  like 
his  drawing.  Both  are  his  interpretations  of  life,  —  the  one, 
gesture  transferred  to  paper ;  the  other,  gesture  of  panto- 
mime or  dramatic  representation.  The  development  brought 
about  by  each  is  due  to  the  creative  attack,  the  quick,  sug- 
gestive interpretation  of  thought,  and  also  the  increased 
curiosity  in  regard  to  life.  The  time  and  effort  given  to  a 
finished  play,  therefore,  exceed  the  results  obtained.  In  its 
formative  period  dramatic  representation  is  productive ;  it 
is  these  growing  pains  which  count  in  education*  When 

144 


DRAMATIC  EXPRESSION  145 

the  climax  of  growth  is  reached  there  is  a  rapid  and  steady 
degeneration. 

The  term  "  dramatic  play  "  is  misleading ;  one  should  say 
"  dramatic  expression  "  or  "  dramatic  interpretation,"  which 
are  more  inclusive,  and  have  to  do  with  the  means,  not  the 
end.  Dramatic  interpretation  may  be  applied  to  all  the  work 
of  the  classroom,  —  a  vital  spark  of  life  dropped  into  the  lap 
of  formalism  and  routine.  All  work  which  is  imaginative, 
constructive,  and  vivid  is  dramatic.  It  is  this  interpretation 
of  the  drama,  rather  than  its  more  limited  phase  of  dra- 
matic play,  which  needs  to  find  its  way  into  the  schools.  I 
need  not,  therefore,  necessarily  give  a  play  to  use  dramatic 
interpretation  in  school  work,  but  I  do  need  to  present 
geography,  history,  and  even  mathematics  dramatically.  I 
must  infuse  an  emotional  quality  into  the  ideas  to  be  in- 
stilled, for  emotion  is  the  connecting  link  between  facts 
and  life.  It  is  not  only  necessary  that  I  know  a  fact,  but  I 
must  feel  it  in  its  relation  to  humanity. 

Dramatic  representation  is  instinctive,  and  instincts  dom- 
inate childhood.  Through  such  interpretation  the  child 
touches  heights  and  depths  which  otherwise  might  never 
enter  into  his  experience.  Life  becomes  larger  as  he  learns 
to  lay  aside  his  own  limitations  and  put  himself  in  the 
other  man's  place.  He  need  not  wait  to  enlist  in  the  army 
to  become  a  soldier,  nor  carry  a  real  gun  to  acquire  a 
martial  step.  He  need  not  do  wrong  himself  in  order  to 
know  the  remorse  of  wrongdoing.  The  child  is  egoistic, 
and  that  which  he  understands  must  bear  an  intimate  and 
personal  relation.  Just  as  he  must  take  into  his  hands  the 
concrete  thing  he  studies,  and  by  physical  contact  under- 
stand it,  so,  to  understand  thought,  emotion,  character,  he 
must  assimilate  them,  lose  himself  in  them,  and  become  for 
the  time  being  that  thing  which  he  interprets. 


146   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

0 

The  child  tries  on  and  throws  off  moods  and  emotions 
easily,  for  his  young  body  is  alert,  sensitive,  and  supple. 
It  is  not  hampered  by  the  fixed  habits  of  thought  and 
feeling  which  make  the  adult  impervious  to  suggestion  and 
variation.  Dramatic  representation  recognizes  this,  and  in- 
volves the  use  of  the  child's  whole  body ;  without  special- 
ization, amcebalike,  he  takes  in  impressions  with  every  part 
of  it.  The  child  is  undifferentiated  emotionally.  He  does 
not  smile  when  he  is  glad,  but  fairly  dances  with  joy.  He 
does  not  shed  a  few  tears  when  he  is  unhappy,  but  kicks 
and  shakes  with  his  grief.  The  opportunity  to  make  use  of 
his  whole  body  in  the  expression  of  his  feeling,  which  he 
is  compelled  to  do  in  dramatic  interpretation,  will  serve  to 
equalize  and  conserve  his  moral  strength.  Emotional  ex- 
pression, although  dependent  upon  instinct,  must  not  be 
left  to  chance.  Instinct  and  emotion  are  as  capable  of  or- 
ganization as  motor  and  mental  processes,  but  not  through 
didactic  prescription.  Here  more  than  anywhere  else  organ- 
ization and  education  must  go  on  within  the  pupil  himself 
through  the  illuminating  process  of  self-expression,  passing 
from  its  fundamental  to  accessory  phases. 

Just  as  drawing  and  clay  modeling  bring  form  into  relief 
and  necessitate  clear  images,  so  dramatic  work  brings  char- 
acter into  consciousness,  making  mood,  motive,  cause  and 
effect,  stand  out  in  relative  proportion.  Such  expression 
brings  to  the  emotional  life  what  travel  and  study  bring  to 
the  intellectual. 

Dramatic  work  also  organizes  the  child's  thinking.  The 
simple  and  imperfect  images  of  childhood  are  vivified  and 
crystallized  by  being  transformed  into  the  movements  which 
express  them,  and  a  child  emerges  from  dramatic  repre- 
sentation fortified  in  his  mental  imagery.  Action  and  imi- 
tation are  potent  factors  in  the  education  of  children,  and 


DRAMATIC  EXPRESSION  147 

the  dramatic  work  makes  it  possible  to  secure  purposeful 
activity,  as  well  as  to  organize  and  limit  that  which  one 
would  have  the  child  imitate. 

Dramatic  work  enriches  experience,  relieves  formality, 
reduces  restlessness,  and  establishes  a  reciprocal  attitude 
between  teacher  and  pupil.  It  vitalizes  the  reading,  illumi- 
nates geography  and  history,  and  gives  motive  and  utility 
to  the  handwork.  It  chases  out  self-consciousness  and  gives 
an  incentive  to  public  speaking  and  impromptu  address. 
It  organizes  the  imagination  ;  seizes  upon  essentials  through 
the  enforced  limitations  of  time  and  space,  and  sets  free 
a  sense  of  humor  out  of  which  will  grow  a  sympathetic 
philosophy  of  life.  Dramatic  expression  invites  a  copious 
vocabulary  and  lends  significance  to  the  school  library.  A 
book  on  manners  and  customs  will  be  little  used  until  the 
child  needs  the  information  which  it  contains  to  portray 
some  character. 

Dramatic  representation  of  historical  subjects  opens 
history  to  the  girls.  History  becomes  not  only  the  story 
of  some  great  man's  life,  but  the  portrayal  of  the  lives  of 
a  people,  — the  account  of  the  struggles  and  victories  of  an 
epoch  in  which  women  figured  and  lent  significant  help. 

A  few  suggestions  as  to  the  method  of  presentation  may 
not  be  out  of  place.  The  interest  of  the  work  grows  out  of 
certain  fundamental  instincts  of  childhood,  —  imitation, 
construction,  and  motor  activity.  Unless  the  manner  of 
calling  these  instincts  into  play  is  well  organized,  the  whole 
value  of  the  art  is  lost.  Dramatic  play  in  the  early  grades 
means  the  hardest  kind  of  thinking  and  a  most  definite 
creative  effort.  The  moment  that  it  degenerates  into  super- 
ficial play  and  noisy  representation  it  ceases  to  belong  to 
the  school  period  and  has  no  right  to  the  precious  school 
hours.  One  test  of  the  worth  of  dramatic  play  in  the 


148   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

school  is  the  effect  which  it  has  upon  the  general  discipline 
and  conduct  of  the  room.  As  soon  as  dramatic  play  leads 
to  disorganization  the  teacher  may  be  sure  that  she  needs 
to  look  into  her  methods.  If  the  work  is  presented  with 
the  proper  forethought  and  planning,  it  becomes  the  prop 
of  discipline.  Boys  and  girls  whom  it  has  been  impossible 
to  control  in  any  other  way  have  been  led  to  obedience  and 
a  sense  of  responsibility  by  cooperation  in  the  dramatic 
work.  One  small  boy  of  our  acquaintance,  upon  whose 
saucy  head  every  form  of  penalty  had  been  laid  without 
effect,  was  aroused  to  earnest  effort  and  good  conduct  by 
being  allowed  to  take  part  in  the  dramatic  work  when  he 
had  fulfilled  his  other  obligations,  and  by  being  denied  this 
privilege  when  he  had  not.  It  was  he  who  thought  of  an 
ingenious  way  of  escaping  the  wolf  when  he  played  the 
story  of  "  The  Three  Little  Pigs."  The  wolf  was  in  hot 
pursuit,  and  the  audience  trembled  for  the  little  pig  till 
he  suddenly  seized  the  waste-paper  basket,  curled  up  in  it, 
and  rolled  to  his  house  in  safety. 

First,  then,  the  failure  of  the  work  in  its  early  stages  is 
due  to  a  lack  of  organization.  Dramatic  work  should  be 
begun  in  the  kindergarten,  and  should  proceed  with  increas- 
ing complexity  through  the  grades.  It  should  have  its  ini- 
tial start  in  the  simplest  representation,  and  should  be  well 
within  the  grasp  of  the  players.  The  simplest  form  of  rep- 
resentations is  pantomime,  and  this  may  be  begun  in  con- 
nection with  the  reading  lessons.  For  instance,  one  child 
may  illustrate  some  simple  action  in  pantomime,  which 
another  may  interpret  in  a  simple  sentence  to  be  written  on 
the  blackboard.  When  the  board  is  full  of  such  sentences 
the  review  of  the  reading  becomes  very  simple  ;  every  child 
is  eager  to  choose  a  sentence,  and  without  telling  which 
one,  to  illustrate  it,  while  another  points  to  the  sentence 


DRAMATIC  EXPRESSION  149 

describing  the  action.  Such  a  plan  necessitates  the  reread- 
ing of  all  the  sentences  by  each  member  of  the  class,  and 
the  words  are  being  given  significance  by  the  accompanying 
illustration.  For  instance,  the  following  sentences  might 
result :  "  I  am  chopping  wood  ";  "I  am  washing  dishes  "  ; 
"I  am  ironing  my  clothes";  "I  am  riding  my  horse";  "  I 
am  flying  my  kite";  "  I  am  watering  the  flowers."  A  whole 
vocabulary  of  words  may  be  learned  and  reviewed  with  the 
closest  application  on  the  part  of  the  children. 

This  pantomime  may  be  followed  by  simple  character 
sketches,  in  which  a  child  may  portray  quickly,  and  with 
both  gesture  and  language,  a  father,  a  mother,  an  old  witch, 
a  brownie,  a  newspaper  boy,  a  blacksmith,  a  school-teacher. 
These  should  be  bold  outline  sketches,  without  the  neces- 
sity of  memorizing  anything  and  with  freedom  to  invent, 
construct,  and  choose.  The  child  uses  his  body  to  portray 
the  characters,  adding  words  as  they  help  to  make  the  por- 
trayal more  vivid  and  more  interesting.  Next,  animals  may 
be  represented,  taking  care  to  choose  those  which  have  strik- 
ing characteristics,  as  the  lion,  the  polar  bear,  the  elephant. 
In  every  part  of  the  work  the  children  are  doing  their  own 
thinking,  recalling  and  organizing  their  own  experiences, 
eliminating  the  indefinite,  and  seizing  upon  the  salient  and 
important  traits.  In  proportion  as  the  representation  is 
vivid  and  true  to  life,  will  the  player  gain  the  cooperation 
and  sympathy  of  his  audience.  These  bits  of  portrayal  evoke 
interesting  comments  on  the  part  of  the  class,  and  lead  to 
requests  for  further  information  about  the  animals  or  char- 
acters brought  before  them.  Very  soon  the  class  will  not 
be  content  with  one  player.  The  boy  who  is  trying  to  repre- 
sent the  monkey  will  suggest  that  he  have  a  hand-organ 
man  ;  the  hen  will  want  chickens ;  and  the  scene  will  grow 
naturally  and  easily  without  dictation  from  the  teacher. 


150   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

The  next  step  might  be  the  portrayal  of  moods.  The  chil- 
dren will  choose  such  subjects  as  a  frightened  girl,  a  lost 
child,  a  lazy  boy,  a  happy  child,  a  tardy  boy,  a  soldier  on 
duty,  a  rheumatic  old  lady.  It  is  interesting  to  see  how 
the  children  grow  in  power  of  representation  and  sugges- 
tion, and  how  naturally  language  begins  to  be  the  necessary 
accompaniment  of  gesture  in  a  satisfactory  representation. 
The  language  of  the  children  will  be  pictorial  and  full  of 
unexpected  turns  and  phrases.  At  this  stage  of  the  work 
it  will  be  found  helpful  to  put  a  screen  between  the  player 
and  the  class.  Such  a  device  adds  a  little  mystery  to  the 
play  and  throws  the  burden  of  interpretation  upon  the 
voice.  The  audience  must  rely  upon  the  emotional  quality 
of  the  voice  in  order  to  interpret  the  character.  For  in- 
stance, a  child  says,  "  I  do  not  want  to  go  out  to  play."  It 
depends  entirely  upon  the  tone  of  voice  in  which  the  words 
are  said  whether  the  class  is  to  describe  the  character  as 
a  sick  boy,  a  tired  boy,  or  a  sulky  boy.  There  is  a  great 
opportunity  here  to  suggest  the  use  of  new  and  better 
words,  for  the  class  will  see  the  need  of  clear,  descriptive, 
and  vivid  language.  The  effect  that  such  work  may  have 
upon  voice  culture  is  most  significant.  The  artificiality  of 
the  tone  quality  acquired  by  our  formal  reading  is  abso- 
lutely impossible  when  the  feeling  or  desire  to  express 
precedes  the  language  used. 

Tableaux  organized  by  the  children  and  representing  phases 
of  school  life,  home  life,  historical  scenes,  will  be  found  most 
effective.  The  emphasis  here  is  mainly  upon  the  position 
and  ease  of  the  body,  and  the  expression  of  the  face.  Chil- 
dren learn  a  degree  of  self-control  by  such  adjustment 
which  reflects  itself  in  other  lines  of  work.  The  child  who 
is  conscious  of  himself,  and  who  is  not  losing  himself  in  the 
representation  of  the  present  moment,  very  soon  meets  the 


DRAMATIC  EXPRESSION  151 

criticism  of  the  class.  Invite  such  criticism,  and  by  keep- 
ing it  impersonal  and  to  the  point,  train  the  children  in 
the  formation  of  just,  constructive  criticisms.  The  oppor- 
tunity which  such  work  offers  for  the  questions,  "  Why  do 
you  think  so  ?  "  "How  would  you  make  the  work  better  ?  " 
should  not  be  omitted,  for  it  means  that  later  that  boy  or 
girl  will  not  learn  lessons  by  rote  without  question  or 
reasoning.  The  tableaux  chosen  should  spring  from  the 
school  work,  or  represent  scenes  which  are  vividly  present 
to  the  children,  —  The  School  Garden,  A  Reading  Lesson, 
The  Playground,  A  Picnic  in  the  Woods ;  or  more  seri- 
ous subjects,  —  The  Eskimos  at  Work,  Hiawatha  and  his 
Brothers,  The  Pilgrims'  Sunday,  etc.  Many  of  the  national 
holidays  lend  themselves  to  tableau  representations. 

After  the  experience  gained  by  the  representation  of 
such  character  sketches  and  moods,  the  children  will  be 
ready  to  undertake  stories  with  simple  plot.  The  beginning 
of  plot  will  be  found  in  the  stories  of  Mother  Goose.  The 
value  of  the  Mother  Goose  representations  lies  chiefly  in 
the  simplicity  of  plot,  for  unless  the  story  is  exceedingly 
simple  and  easily  remembered,  the  children  cannot  form  a 
mental  picture  vivid  enough  to  portray.  Children  are  ready 
to  listen  to  many  beautiful  stories  which  they  could  not 
possibly  play.  They  are  able  to  get  general  impressions 
and  suggestions  which  are  invaluable  from  stories  whose 
plot  and  incidents  they  could  not  put  into  form.  But  when 
a  child  is  asked  to  represent  a  character,  or  to  play  a  series 
of  incidents,  they  must  be  as  familiar  as  his  own  name, 
so  that  he  may  lose  himself  in  the  representation,  and  not 
spend  his  energy  trying  to  recall  what  to  do  next.  It  is 
because  the  stories  are  not  sufficiently  familiar  or  suffi- 
ciently organized  that  the  children  frequently  show  a  lack 
of  enthusiasm  in  their  representation.  A  young  teacher 


152   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMARY  SCHOOL 

recently  said,  "  The  children  I  have  must  be  different  from 
others;  they  do  not  respond  to  the  dramatic  work,  but 
stand  up  awkwardly  with  nothing  to  say."  Upon  investi- 
gation it  was  found  that  the  little  people  in  question  had 
been  asked  to  take  part  in  stories  which  had  only  been  told 
them  once,  and  which  were  too  complex  for  them  to  handle. 
Of  course  they  had  nothing  to  say.  It  was  like  exploring 
a  new  country,  and  there  was  no  familiar  path  upon  which 
to  walk.  They  had  enjoyed  the  stories,  and  undoubtedly 
gained  impressions,  but  playing  a  story  is  like  drawing  a 
diagram :  every  detail  must  be  clear ;  a  hazy,  indefinite 
impression  cannot  be  put  into  tangible  form.  But  such 
difficulties  only  testify  to  the  value  of  the  work ;  we  are 
working  for  definite  images,  and  perfect  mental  control ; 
the  dramatic  work  makes  it  possible  to  find  out  just  how 
clear  children's  images  are,  and  to  set  them  right  in  their 
thinking.  When  the  simple  stories  of  Mother  Goose  were 
offered  to  the  children  referred  to,  and  they  were  given  a 
chance  to  represent  something  which  was  vividly  pictorial, 
they  became  the  most  enthusiastic  workers,  showing  a  desire 
to  dramatize  everything  in  which  they  were  interested. 

Children  should  not  be  asked  to  memorize  parts.  Such 
work  is  not  constructive  or  creative,  and  therefore  of  little 
value.  If  dramatizing  is  memorizing,  then  let  the  children 
store  their  minds  with  beautiful  bits  of  poetry,  exquisite 
in  their  form  and  feeling.  Dramatic  work  is  imaginative 
interpretation,  and  therefore  the  burden  must  rest  upon 
the  child  himself. 

In  taking  up  the  dramatization  of  stories,  if  a  plan  of 
work  is  followed,  there  will  be  a  gradual  transition  from 
pantomime,  tableaux,  and  portrayal  of  mood,  to  dialogues 
and  easy  dramatic  plots.  The  story  chosen  should  have 
abundant  action,  and  divide  itself  naturally  into  consecutive 


DKAMATIC  EXPBESSION  153 

parts.  The  teacher  should  have  a  definite  synopsis  of  the 
story  clearly  in  mind,  —  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an 
end.  She  should,  by  discussion  with  the  children,  divide 
the  story  into  these  parts,  so  that  the  sequence  of  events 
will  be  held  clearly  in  mind.  A  skeleton  of  the  story  may 
be  written  on  the  blackboard,  so  that  the  unnecessary  and 
nonrepresentable  parts  may  be  eliminated  before  there  is 
any  attempt  to  portray  them.  It  should  be  possible  to  write 
in  two  or  three  sentences  a  synopsis  of  a  story  suitable  for 
little  children  to  play.  In  the  process  of  organization  which 
precedes  the  playing  the  teacher  may  say  to  the  children, 
"When  the  story  opens,  in  Part  One,  who  is  present?" 
She  may  then  name  and  write  these  characters  on  the 
board.  "  Who  is  the  first  person  to  appear  ?  "  "  What  is 
she  doing  when  the  story  opens  ? "  "  What  does  she  look 
like?"  With  simple  questioning  the  story  is  recalled,  and 
reviewed  with  enthusiasm  and  motive.  "If  you  were  the 
Old  Woman  in  the  Shoe  [or  whatever  character  the  child 
is  to  play],  what  would  you  do  when  the  story  opens?" 
Get  several  children  to  try,  and  then  ask  the  class  which 
was  the  best  Old  Woman.  They  will  give  fine  points  of  in- 
terpretation, mentioning  clear  voice,  face  to  the  audience, 
looked  like  the  picture  in  the  book,  etc.  In  such  a  prepa- 
ration lies  the  value  of  the  work.  The  story  is  construc- 
tively organized,  and  all  the  class  is  working  together.  The 
teacher  must,  however,  enter  into  the  work.  She  must  be 
expressive  and  suggestive.  For  instance,  some  child  por- 
trays the  wolf  in  "  Little  Red  Riding  Hood."  Perhaps  he 
is  not  very  expressive,  and  his  representation  is  not  vivid. 
Here  is  the  teacher's  opportunity  to  throw  the  work  open  to 
the  class,  and  to  ask  some  one  else :  "  Were  you  very  much 
afraid  of  that  wolf  ?  "  "  Well,  what  could  you  do  to  make 
us  more  afraid  ?  "  "  How  could  you  make  yourself  look 


154      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

more  like  a  wolf  ?  "  "  Can  you  think  of  anything  to  say 
that  will  make  the  story  better  ?  "  The  children  will  be 
only  too  happy  to  volunteer  suggestions,  and  in  this  way 
the  work  is  kept  a  growing  conception.  The  analysis  of  the 
story  is  constructive,  not  destructive,  and  is  based  upon  the 
children's  own  experience  and  imagination.  The  work  is 
kept  childlike,  creative,  and  original. 

As  the  stories  are  played  the  children  become  lost  in  the 
characters  and  forget  all  question  of  sex.  When  some  big, 
overgrown  boy  asks  naively, (f  May  I  be  the  mother  ?  "  let 
him,  without  comment.  Character  and  action  are  sexless, 
and  it  is  interpretation  of  these  that  interests  the  children. 
They  are,  for  the  time  being,  not  boys  and  girls,  but  fathers, 
mothers,  fairies,  witches,  and  gnomes.  The  children  are  sim- 
ply projecting  character  upon  a  screen,  that  they  may  see  it 
more  clearly. 

Sometimes  in  giving  plays  the  children  will  suggest  other 
parts  ;  for  instance,  some  child  will  say,  "  Did  n't  the  boy  in 
the  story  have  a  father  too  ?  "  or  "  Was  there  only  one  per- 
son at  home  when  the  fairy  came  ?  "  When  the  suggestions 
are  natural,  and  do  not  interfere  with  the  construction  of 
the  story,  there  is  no  reason  why  the  children  should  not 
have  the  added  pleasure  of  playing  another  part.  They  will 
frequently  make  very  suggestive  additions  which  increase 
the  attractiveness  of  the  play. 

It  is  well  to  allow  a  child  to  take  the  part  which  seems 
to  appeal  to  him,  but  there  is  also  a  chance  to  encourage 
helpful  cooperation.  The  children  may  learn  to  hold  the 
success  of  the  play  above  personal  gratification.  A  bash- 
ful child  should  never  be  forced  to  take  part  in  the  plays. 
If  he  is  left  to  himself,  he  will  soon  ask  for  a  part.  The 
most  timid  child  rarely  withholds  himself  more  than  a 
few  days,  and  by  a  little  tactful  planning  on  the  part  of 


DRAMATIC  EXPRESSION  155 

the  teacher  characters  will  be  assigned  where  they  will 
do  the  most  good. 

As  to  the  question  of  costume,  some  slight  addition  to 
the  ordinary  dress  will  be  found  to  be  more  suggestive  than 
an  elaborate  make-up.  A  cap,  a  sword,  a  drum,  a  wand,  a 
walking  stick,  a  shawl,  a  doll,  an  apron,  will  give  the  needed 
touch.  The  children  should  be  allowed  to  make  these  bits 
of  costume  during  the  handwork  period.  A  general  prop- 
erty box  should  be  kept  in  the  room  and  its  contents  added 
to  gradually  in  the  most  economical  way.  A  "  Mystery 
House  "  for  puppet  shows  might  also  be  built. 

The  puppet  play  is  a  lost  art  which  the  primary  schools 
could  well  restore  to  childhood.  The  wonderful  educational 
and  recreational  possibilities  of  the  puppet  are  as  yet  un- 
touched. Children  take  a  keen  delight  in  miniature  repro- 
ductions of  life.  They  are  attracted  and  compelled  to 
interest  by  moving  objects,  which  they  immediately  endow 
with  life.  The  puppet  play  is  irresistibly  fascinating  to 
children  because  it  combines  motion  with  a  suggestive  re- 
production of  the  human  form,  voice,  and  mimic  gesture. 
The  tiny,  grotesque  figures  which  look  up  from  behind  the 
curtain  are  so  crude  and  flexible  that  each  child  may  give 
free  play  to  his  imagination  and  endow  these  miniature  men 
with  a  personality  in  keeping  with  his  own  temperament 
and  experience.  The  curtain  helps,  too,  by  adding  an  air  of 
mystery  to  the  source  from  which  these  tiny  people  come, 
and  their  coming  and  going  is  so  humorously  abrupt  that 
every  child  attends,  while  the  elemental  emotions  of  wonder, 
curiosity,  imitation,  fear,  love,  joy,  humor,  are  aroused  in  a 
crude  form  of  drama  which  is  profoundly  childlike. 

The  puppet  show  should  be  revived  along  with  folk 
songs  and  traditional  games,  for  "  it  has  been  acted  and 
written  and  sung  into  the  lives  of  the  great  and  lowly, 


156   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMAEY  SCHOOL 

the  rich  and  poor,  of  all  climes  and  nationalities."  The 
play  was  started  by  Silvio  Fiorillo  before  the  vintagers  of 
southern  Italy  in  1640.  In  an  article  on  "  The  Most  Popu- 
lar Play  in  the  World,"  by  Ernest  Russell  (Outing,  January, 
1908),  we  read,  "  In  England  the  puppet  play  followed 
the  mystery  plays,"  and  was  used  as  "  a  side  show  for 
circuses,  a  traveling  amusement,  an  entertainment  in  the 
convent,  on  the  street,  and  at  evening  gatherings."  These 
puppet  shows  have  been  in  operation  nearly  three  hundred 
years  and  appear  as  Punch  in  England  and  America, 
Punchinello  in  Italy,  Polichinelle  in  France,  Hanswurst  in 
Germany,  and  Pickelhering  in  Holland.  Even  the  sternest 
of  us  must  admit  that  those  fundamental  emotional  experi- 
ences which  have  appealed  through  long  ages  to  the  folk 
soul  find  a  subtle  response  in  our  own  nervous  make-up. 
The  tears  and  laughter  of  the  race  start  from  our  own  eyes, 
and  the  puppet  show  will  continue  to  delight  all  children 
till  their  very  instincts  decay. 

Aside  from  the  delight,  the  puppet  show  may  be  of 
pedagogical  utility  to  the  elementary  school.  It  may  be 
used  to  advantage  in  the  reproduction  of  stories,  dialogues, 
and  current  events  which  it  is  desirable  to  emphasize.  The 
reproduction  is  so  simple  that  the  children  may  work  up 
programs  of  their  own.  This  will  encourage  constructive 
thinking  and  the  use  of  good  English.  The  children  can 
easily  make  all  the  paraphernalia  needed,  for  the  construc- 
tion of  the  puppets,  curtains,  etc.  is  quite  within  their  man- 
ual skill  and  will  furnish  excellent  opportunities  for  the 
handwork.  Pumpkin,  gourd,  or  almost  any  rotund  vege- 
table lends  itself  to  puppet  life.  Take  the  most  common- 
place potato,  make  a  crude  face  on  it,  wrap  a  bit  of  cloth 
about  it,  insert  the  finger  in  a  hole  made  in  one  end,  and  lo, 
the  potato  becomes  fascinatingly  human  and  will  bow  and 


FIG.  31.   A  PRIMARY  PUPPET  PLAT 
157 


158   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

jig  and  talk  at  your  own  discretion !  The  little  group  who 
are  so  intently  looking  and  listening  in  the  illustration 
give  evidence  of  the  power  of  the  puppet  play  to  command 
concentrated  attention. 

It  will  be  found  that  the  success  of  all  dramatic  work 
depends  upon  the  degree  of  organization  with  which  the 
stories  are  attacked,  and  the  freedom  and  spontaneity  with 
which  the  children  are  encouraged  to  interpret  character  and 
action.  The  playing  of  the  stories  can  be  made  the  most 
serious  work  of  the  day,  and  there  are  endless  opportunities 
for  reading,  writing,  spelling,  and  language  lessons  in  con- 
nection with  it.  The  word  "  play  "  has  frightened  a  great 
many  educators,  but  we  are  beginning  to  realize  that  the 
play  spirit  is  the  art  spirit,  and  that  the  hardest  work  is  often 
the  most  delightful.  Play  with  little  children  is  a  mood,  a 
method  of  attack,  and  has  little  to  do  with  energy  or  effort, 
except  that  a  child  puts  forth  his  best  effort  when  he  is  in 
a  playful,  happy,  creative  mood. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PHONICS  AND  SPEECH 

The  recent  science  of  experimental  phonetics  as  repre- 
sented by  Dr.  E.  W.  Scripture  introduces  a  new  theory  of 
voice  production.  His  method  of  curing  stutterers  and 
stammerers  reenf orces  the  necessity  for  intelligent  care  and 
control  of  children's  voices  during  the  early  school  period. 
It  emphasizes  the  prevention  of  the  formation  of  bad  habits 
of  speech,  so  that  their  cure  will  be  made  unnecessary. 

According  to  this  theory  of  voice  production  "  the  larynx, 
containing  the  two  vocal  lips,  which  open  and  shut  by  com- 
pression, omits  a  series  of  puffs  of  air  so  fast  that  the  puffs 
make  a  tone.  The  puffs  from  the  larynx  strike  a  blow  on 
the  air  of  the  vocal  cavities,  chest,  nose,  and  throat,  etc.,  and 
set  it  in  vibration.  These  vocal  cavities  have  soft  walls  and 
are  adjusted  to  certain  tones  for  each  vowel.  The  vibra- 
tions correspond  to  the  sizes  and  shapes  of  the  cavities." 
"  The  pitch  of  the  laryngeal  tone  is  determined  by  the  de- 
gree of  tension  of  the  vocal  cords.  To  vary  the  pitch  the 
laryngeal  muscles  must  be  freely  and  delicately  poised  and 
must  act  readily  and  accurately."  These  cords,  says  Scrip- 
ture, "  must  be  trained  to  emit  such  forms  of  explosion  as 
will  produce  the  best  effect  upon  the  ear." 

The  theory  of  voice  production  once  established,  and  the 
necessity  for  training  the  vocal  cords  to  emit  sounds  pleasur- 
able to  the  ear  admitted,  the  next  question  is,  "  What  is  the 
most  economical  way  to  secure  a  well-trained  speaking  voice 
to  the  young  children  we  are  helping  to  educate  ?  " 

159 


160   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

Dr.  Scripture  gives  three  causes  of  speech  defect:  (1) 
excessive  innervation  of  the  speech  organs ;  (2)  deficient 
innervation  of  the  speech  organs,  which  he  terms  sub- 
energetic  phonation ;  and  (3)  defects  in  the  speech  organs 
themselves. 

There  is  no  greater  educational  sin  of  the  present  day 
than  the  absolute  disregard  which  we  show  in  our  schools 
to  the  quality  and  beauty  of  the  speaking  voice.  The  aver- 
age classroom  is  as  offensive  to  the  ear  as  it  sometimes  is  to 
the  nose,  and  the  average  teacher  is  equally  insensible  to 
both.  We  all  recognize  that  a  good,  clean-cut,  expressive 
voice  is  a  great  asset  and  goes  far  toward  personal  power, 
and  yet  we  are  turning  out  armies  of  young  people  to  whom 
it  is  unpleasant  to  listen.  We  are  as  a  nation  famous  for  a 
flat,  nasal,  sluggish  tone  which  robs  the  best  language  of  its 
force.  The  evolution  of  the  human  voice  marks  a  victory  for 
man ;  his  voice  is  the  instrument  of  power  which  places  him 
above  the  brute.  Shall  we  then  be  so  concerned  with  the 
accumulation  of  facts  that  we  disregard  our  birthright  and 
become  content  with  signs  and  grunts  ?  The  schools  are 
zealously  teaching  the  boy  to  write,  long  before  he  needs 
that  technical  power,  and  are  forgetting  how  much  more  de- 
pendent that  boy  is  upon  the  control  and  convincing  power 
of  his  speaking  voice. 

When  considering  the  problem  of  the  value  of  phonetic 
drill  in  the  school,  its  use  as  a  mere  aid  to  reading  may  be 
utterly  disregarded.  The  purpose  of  phonetic  drill  has  a 
deeper  and  more  significant  meaning.  It  is  of  inestimable 
value  for  four  other  reasons:  (1)  ear  training,  (2)  clear 
enunciation,  (3)  breath  control,  (4)  the  discovery  and  cor- 
rection of  speech  defects. 

The  cases  of  superenergetic  phonation,  or  excessive  in- 
nervation of  the  speech  organs,  are  comparatively  few  in 


PHONICS  AND  SPEECH  161 

the  schools.  The  process  of  cure  involves  gaining  control 
over  each  one  of  the  vocal  organs,  and  in  serious  cases 
needs  the  attention  of  a  specialist.  But  the  problem  with 
which  phonetic  drill  has  to  do  is  that  of  subenergetic  pho- 
nation,  common  to  nine  tenths  of  the  pupils.  We  all  know 
that  children  with  perfectly  healthy  vocal  machinery  have 
unpleasant  voices.  Why  ?  Because  they  constantly  hear 
unpleasant  tones ;  because  their  standards  are  low,  and 
there  is  no  ideal  of  beauty  of  tone  set  for  them  to  imitate. 
Phonetic  drill,  then,  should  awaken  an  ear  conscience,  and 
no  teacher  should  be  permitted  to  victimize  a  whole  room- 
ful of  children  by  pouring  into  their  ears  a  volume  of  ugly 
tone.  One  of  her  requirements  should  be  a  good,  clear,  ex- 
pressive speaking  voice.  Children  are  more  sensitive  and  ' 
more  easily  reached  through  the  ear  than  in  any  other  way, 
and  the  secret  of  a  teacher's  influence  is  often  the  flexibility 
and  beauty  of  her  voice. 

The  voice  reflects  the  character  and  habitual  attitude 
of  the  individual.  A  pure  tone  is  dependent  upon  health, 
breath  control,  emotional  attitude,  imitation,  and  the  physi- 
cal formation  of  the  speech  organs.  We  are  forced  to  admit, 
then,  that  we  may  not  leave  the  voice  to  a  natural  develop- 
ment, but  that  education  must  step  in  with  its  ounce  of 
prevention.  One  must  preserve  the  power  of  deep  breathing, 
and  secure  flexibility  of  tongue,  jaws,  and  lips,  etc.,  in  order 
to  make  the  emission  of  a  pure,  clear  tone  possible.  Just 
as  the  careful  and  frequent  cleaning  of  the  teeth  prevents 
decay  and  preserves  the  natural  mouth,  so  breath  control 
and  flexibility  keep  the  vocal  organs  in  trim  to  do  their 
work  smoothly  and  effectively. 

But  it  is  asked:  "Will  not  a  child  breathe  naturally 
without  instruction  ?  Why  make  him  conscious  of  his 
organs  ?  Nature  will  take  care  to  regulate  them."  Nature 


162   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

is  already  overburdened  in  this  artificial  life  we  lead.  The 
ill-ventilated  room  is  a  destroyer  of  deep  breathing.  The 
system  is  protected  against  impurity  by  the  child's  refusal 
to  let  the  foul  air  into  the  lungs  except  in  sufficient  quan- 
tities to  preserve  life.  A  kind  of  panting  is  substituted  for 
natural  breathing,  and  the  necessary  function  of  inhalation 
and  expansion  is  inhibited. 

Now  the  voice  is  dependent  upon  breath  control.  The 
vowels  which  we  use  are  made  by  sustained  open  columns 
of  air ;  the  consonants  —  the  messengers  of  the  sound 
world  to  carry  the  vowels  to  their  destination  —  are  made 
by  obstructing  these  columns  of  air  with  the  lips,  tongue, 
teeth,  etc.  The  lips,  tongue,  and  teeth  of  the  individual 
child  may  be  in  good  order,  but  unless  he  can  control  the 
column  of  air,  they  are  of  little  use  in  securing  a  good  clear 
speaking  voice.  Before  orderly,  even  speech  is  possible, 
there  must  be  a  liberal  supply  of  air  drawn  into  the  lungs, 
and  the  speaker  must  know  how  to  control  its  output. 

Another  cause  for  subenergetic  phonation  is  the  lack  of 
emotional  tone,  enthusiasm,  and  vigor.  We  frequently  find 
a  fresh  young  voice  in  an  old  body,  and  the  voice  will 
remain  fresh,  clear,  buoyant,  so  long  as  it  has  behind  it 
such  an  attitude  toward  life.  The  human  voice  is  flexible  in 
proportion  as  it  identifies  itself  with  human  feeling.  The 
indifferent,  careless,  joyless  individual  expresses  his  color- 
less experiences  in  a  flat,  sluggish  tone.  The  schools  with 
their  formalism  and  dull  repetition  are  creating  a  peculiar 
schoolroom  tone  which  is  untidy,  nasal,  and  spiritless.  The 
artificial  reading  and  concert  work  of  the  early  grades  pitch 
the  voices  of  our  young  into  a  loud  monotone  to  be  molded 
into  a  habitual  and  unconscious  drawl  in  the  upper  grades. 
We  are  learning  that  free  lunches  and  medical  inspection, 
by  raising  the  physical  tone  of  the  children  in  the  grades, 


PHONICS  AND  SPEECH 


163 


increase  the  volume  and  improve  the  quality  of  the  voice, 
but  we  must  now  learn  that  feeling  and  mood  are  at  the 
basis  of  melody  and  flexibility. 

By  means  of  delicate  instruments  the  voice  of  a  speaker 
or  singer  can  be  caught  by  the  phonograph  or  the  gramo- 
phone, and  then  transferred  to  strips  of  paper  for  closer 
study,  in  the  form  of  visible  vibrations  which  are  represented 
by  curves.  Experiment  has  shown  that  there  are  distinct 


200- 


150- 


100 


DO 


250 


200- 


100 


50 


FIG.  32.    MELODY  PLOT  FOR 
"OH!"     SPOKEN     SORROW- 
FULLY 

(After  Scripture) 


FIG.  33.   MELODY   PLOT  FOR 
"OH!"  SPOKEN  ADMIRINGLY 


modifications  of  these  speech  curves  dependent  upon  the 
emotion  of  the  speaker.  There  is  what  Dr.  Scripture  calls 
a  "  melody  plot "  in  every  vocal  expression,  even  in  the 
utterance  of  a  simple  sound  like  "  Oh ! "  and  this  plot 
varies  decidedly  with  each  emotion  (Figs.  32  and  33). 

The  "  melody  cure  "  is  being  used  to  correct  stammering 
and  stuttering.  "  By  putting  melody  and  flexibility,  rise 
and  fall,  into  the  vocal  utterance  of  persons  with  such 
speech  defects,  new  speech  habits  are  formed,  ease  and 
fluency  are  acquired,  and  the  old  compulsive  fear  which 


164   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMAEY  SCHOOL 

inhibits  speech  and  cramps  the  muscles  of  the  larynx  is 
driven  out."  The  stutterer  speaks  in  a  characteristic  mo- 
notonous manner,  represented  in  Fig.  34.  He  is  cured  when 
he  learns  to  say  "  Good  morning !  "  with  melodious  modu- 
lation, as  shown  in  Fig.  35. 

This  melody  idea  should  be  made  use  of  in  phonetic 
drills  to  establish  free,  flexible  tones  which  produce  pleas- 
ant effects  upon  the  ear.  Children  love  to  play  "  echo";  the 
teacher  says  a  phrase,  in  any  form  or  intonation  she  chooses, 
and  the  children  give  it  back  in  soft,  smooth,  echo  fashion, 
preserving  the  same  inflection. .  She  can  give  three  or  four 
interpretations  to  such  a  simple  sentence  as  "  Come  in." 
That  is,  she  may  say  "  Come  in  "  in  many  moods.  It  may 


good  •  morn     ing  good     morn     ing ! 

FIG.  34.    MONOTONY   OF   THE          FIG.  35.  FLUCTUATING  MELODY 
STUTTERER'S  VOICE  IN  THE  NORMAL  VOICE 

represent  a  call  to  people  in  the  distance,  a  command,  a 
hospitable  invitation,  joy,  excitement,  surprise,  —  thus  giv- 
ing the  class  the  opportunity  for  unconscious  imitation  of 
melodious,  flexible  speech.  The  device  is  a  simple  one,  but 
gives  the  incentive  for  close  attention  and  precise  imitation 
in  a  happy,  childlike  mood. 

The  problem  of  ear  training  and  voice  culture  is  a  serious 
one.  The  majority  of  our  public-school  children  have  never 
heard  the  English  language  in  its  purity.  They  do  not 
pronounce  their  £'s  and  cTs,  nor  make  use  of  round,  pure 
vowels,  because  they  have  never  heard  them;  or  because 
they  have  acquired  a  lazy  habit  of  keeping  the  jaws  rigid 
and  of  holding  the  teeth  close  together.  The  language  con- 
science should  be  awakened  in  the  lower  grades,  so  that 


PHONICS  AND  SPEECH  165 

the  children  will  stop  their  ears  to  an  unpleasant  speaking 
tone,  as  they  will  to  the  shrill  whistle  of  a  locomotive. 

Voice  culture  must  come  through  the  ear,  and  it  can 
be  brought  about  only  by  unconscious  imitation  of  pure 
sound,  presented  in  a  playful,  suggestive  way.  Primary  : 
children  are  in  an  imitative,  playful,  language-building 
period,  and  therefore  such  work  in  voice  culture  belongs 
to  the  earlier  grades.  This  training  is  a  thousand  times 
more  valuable  than  the  conscious  analysis  of  words.  It  is, 
after  all,  oral  composition,  and  oral  composition  is  what  we 
need,  —  face-to-face,  direct,  and  intelligent  communication 
of  thought  in  a  clear,  natural  tone.  The  distressing  quan- 
tity of  written  work,  out  of  proportion  in  the  first  grade 
and  fairly  swamping  our  normal  and  high  schools,  utterly 
disregards  the  crying  need  of  our  young  people  for  ac- 
ceptable oral  presentation.  There  should  be  a  reformation  \ 
throughout  the  elementary  school  which  would  establish  a 
belief  that  the  power  to  talk  well  must  precede  the  power  ! 
to  write  well. 

Let  us  admit,  then,  that  there  are  serious  local  causes 
for  the  unpleasant  voices  characteristic  of  our  land,  and  let 
phonetic  drill  help  to  eliminate  them.  In  every  school 
where  there  is  artificial  reading,  and  lack  of  joy,  interest, 
and  emotional  response ;  where  teachers  with  colorless 
voices  compel  harmful  imitation,  and  absence  of  good  fresh 
air  prevents  wholesome  breathing ;  where  concert  work 
fostering  loudness,  not  quality  of  tone,  prevails,  —  there 
will  be  found  the  natural  causes  for  grave  offenses  against 
pure  tone  quality  and  clear  enunciation. 

Children  are  instinctively  interested  in  sound.  They 
amuse  themselves  when  alone  by  repeating  over  and  over 
again  sounds  which  interest  them,  irrespective  of  their 
meaning.  Why  not  lay  hold  of  this  instinctive  tendency 


166   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

to  educate  the  sound  sense  as  you  do  the  color  or  num- 
ber sense  ?  If  one  may  not  have  a  separate  period  for 
phonetic  drill,  use  the  game  period  for  exercises  like  the 
following. 

Give  the  children  directions  to  do  certain  things;  as, 
"  Close  the  door,"  "Open  the  desk,"  etc., — using  the  lips 
only  and  without  uttering  a  sound.  What  will  happen  ? 
Every  eye  will  be  focused  upon  the  teacher's  mouth,  so 
that  the  children  will  begin  to  see  how  the  vowels  and 
consonants  which  they  hear  are  made.  Unconscious  imi- 
tation will  set  in  and  help  them  to  place  their  own  vocal 
organs  in  proper  position  when  they  in  turn  are  permitted 
to  give  the  directions.  For  instance,  enunciating  clearly 
but  without  vocalization,  say,  "  Touch  your  head,"  "  Clasp 
your  hands,"  "  Open  your  mouth,"  etc.  Some  of  the  children 
will  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives  realize  that  "  sit "  has 
a  t  at  the  end  of  it, "  head  "  a  d ;  for  they  have  never  heard 
the  words  except  in  a  careless,  slurring  fashion. 

Again,  children  love  to  imitate  sounds,  and  there  are 
many  which  they  hear  every  day  which  can  be  made  use  of 
in  a  game.  The  child  who  plays  is  to  impersonate  some 
animal  or  thing,  and  may  make  known  what  he  is  only 
by  some  characteristic  sound.  When  you  say  "  Who  and 
what  are  you, "  he  will  reply,  moo,  or  coo,  or  m,  sh,  ch,  etc., 
meaning  "  cow,"  "  dove,"  "  snake,"  "skyrocket,"  "  engine." 
Now  comes  the  teacher's  opportunity  to  introduce  new 
and  difficult  sounds  which  require  prolonged  vowel  con- 
trol, quick,  direct  consonant  drill,  and  sustained  breathing. 
This  work  may  grow  in  complexity  until  the  repetition  of 
difficult  bits  of  rime  and  alliteration  are  mastered,  and  fail- 
ures of  speech  control  in  individual  children  noted,  without 
undue  consciousness.  Playing  "echo,"  as  described  above, 
is  another  device  which  may  be  used  in  this  connection. 


PHONICS  AND  SPEECH  167 

Work  of  this  character  may  be  followed  by  a  session 
with  "  Mother  Goose."  Much  of  the  charm  of  "  Mother 
Goose "  is  due  to  its  abundant  rime.  Children  listen  at- 
tentively to  recurring  accent,  and  begin  to  get  a  feeling  for 
the  rhythm  of  language.  Train  the  children  to  listen  for 
and  recognize  sounds  that  are  alike.  "  Jack  and  Jill  went 
up  the  hill ;  Jack  fell  down  and  broke  his  crown."  This 
exercise  is  at  first  merely  for  the  recognition  of  rimes, 
and  the  children  may  hold  up  their  hands  when  they  hear 
words  that  sound  alike.  The  next  step  is  to  let  the  chil- 
dren do  the  riming.  "I  am  thinking  of  a  word  that  sounds 
like  rake,  —  what  do  you  think  of  ? "  Place  the  words 
presented  by  the  children  under  one  another,  so  that  they 
will  see  that  the  initial  consonant  makes  the  difference  in 
the  meaning,  and  that  the  body  of  the  words  is  constant. 
Now  these  words  may  be  pronounced  in  a  whisper  quickly, 
with  the  teacher  as  a  model  to  imitate.  If  the  game  spirit 
is  preserved,  and  flexibility  and  response  set  at  a  premium, 
the  results  are  excellent. 

Consonants  should  not  be  separated  from  words  and 
vocalized.  Such  an  exercise  gives  a  child  a  very  false  idea 
of  phonetic  values.  There  is  no  such  thing  in  the  English  lan- 
guage as  duh,  puh,  muh,  —  as  rf,  and  p,  and  m  are  ordinarily 
pronounced.  Consonants  mean  merely  the  placing  of  the 
vocal  organs  in  position.  They  are  the  triggers  of  speech ; 
set  the  trigger,  and  when  it  falls  it  will  release  the  vowel 
and  send  it  to  its  journey's  end.  For  consonant  drill  let  the 
children  imitate  the  position  of  the  teacher's  vocal  organs, 
and  quickly  say  a  word  beginning  with  the  consonant  the 
symbol  of  which  has  been  previously  written  on  the  board. 
A  long  list,  as  "bad,"  "boy,"  "beg,"  "burst,"  "big," 
"  body,"  "  bean,"  "  baby,"  will  be  mentioned  by  the  chil- 
dren, who  will  be  made  conscious  of  the  fact  that  all  these 


168   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

words  begin  with  b,  and  that  it  is  necessary  to  place  the 
vocal  organs  in  a  certain  position  before  it  is  possible  to  say 
words  that  do  begin  with  b.  The  consonants  are  absolutely 
disfigured  by  being  separated  from  the  vowels  which  they 
emphasize  and  vocalize.  The  analysis  of  words  into  self- 
conscious,  separate  sounds  will  undoubtedly  bring  on  inhi- 
bition and  speech  defects.  A  recent  report  of  the  public 
schools  of  Boston  calls  artificial  phonetic  instruction  the 
breeding  ground  of  stuttering  and  stammering.  The  beauty 
of  speech  lies  in  a  smoothness,  fluidity,  and  lack  of  hesitation 
which  cannot  be  acquired  by  analysis,  but  by  unconscious 
and  skillful  imitation  of  pure  words. 

In  the  riming  which  has  been  suggested  and  the  arrange- 
ment of  words  with  similar  endings  in  columns,  the  neces- 
sary aid  to  reading  can  be  given  and  yet  the  emphasis  be  laid 
upon  melody  and  sound  values.  All  the  word  endings  — 
as  end,  and,  ind,  ate,  ite,  ake,  ight  —  may  be  taught  in  this 
way,  serving  the  double  purpose  of  insuring  the  quick 
recognition  of  words  and  the  opportunity  for  effective 
sound  drill.  The  words  which  end  alike  may  be  put  into 
short  sentences  vibrating  with  action  and  full  of  interpretive 
interest,  so  that  the  oral  reproduction  of  them  will  be  full 
of  melody  and  flexibility.  The  learning  of  word  endings 
should,  however,  be  merely  an  accompaniment  of  phonetic 
drill,  and  not  an  end  in  itself.  The  purpose  of  phonics  in 
the  schools  is  not  to  reduce  reading  to  a  mechanical  process, 
but  to  serve  as  a  means  of  voice  culture. 

The  compiling  of  dictionaries  in  connection  with  the 
phonetic  work  is  an  interesting  and  special  help  in  read- 
ing and  spelling.  Make  a  book  in  the  handwork  period ; 
put  at  the  top  of  each  page  one  of  these  endings,  —  and, 
end,  ate,  etc. ;  let  the  children  enter  words  studied  accord- 
ing to  their  respective  endings.  Sound  values  will  soon 


PHONICS  AND  SPEECH  169 

become  conscious  to  the  children  without  any  harmful 
analysis  of  words. 

Perhaps  a  few  suggestions  for  improving  breath  control 
will  not  be  out  of  place  : 

Let  the  children  try  to  blow  out  an  imaginary  candle. 
They  will  take  a  natural  breath  and  then  send  it  out  in  one 
explosive  effort.  The  imaginary  candle  which  the  teacher 
holds  in  her  hand  in  front  of  the  class  may  be  held  at  dif- 
ferent distances,  so  that  the  amount  of  breath  taken  into 
the  body  will  be  increased. 

Let  them  play  that  they  hold  a  four-o'clock  in  their  hands, 
and  try  to  blow  all  the  feathery  down  off  at  one  expiration. 

They  may  play  that  they  hold  pin  wheels  in  their  hands, 
and  in  order  to  keep  them  going  smoothly  round  and  round, 
must  take  a  long  breath  and  then  send  it  out  slowly  and 
evenly.  This  even  control  of  the  breath  is  exactly  what  is 
needed  in  effective  speech,  and  this  simple  exercise  offers 
training  in  breath  control  with  a  motive  and  without  mak- 
ing speech  self-conscious. 

To  get  the  same  exercise,  the  children  will  enjoy  play- 
ing that  there  is  a  feather  floating  in  the  air  just  above 
their  heads,  and  they  must  keep  it  up  in  the  air  by  blowing 
upon  it. 

To  imitate  a  tired  dog  panting  gives  an  opportunity  for 
a  succession  of  explosive  breaths,  decreasing  in  volume 
until  the  breath  drawn  in  has  been  exhausted. 

Such  devices  may  sound  very  simple  to  those  who  are 
afraid  of  the  word  "  play "  in  the  classroom,  but  to  play  that 
a  thing  is  so  means  to  imagine  it  so,  and  children's  imag- 
inations are  so  active  and  vigorous  that  there  is  nothing 
forced  or  conscious  in  the  exercises  suggested.  If  one  tries 
to  lead  the  children  to  take  a  long,  deep  breath  simply  by 
saying  in  a  formal  way,  "  Now  take  a  long  breath,"  the 


170   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMARY  SCHOOL 

children  swell  up  like  little  porpoises,  and  the  distention  is 
entirely  forced,  without  developing  the  natural  control  of 
breath.  It  is  surprising  to  see  how  few  children  expand 
their  lungs  naturally,  or  make  use  of  their  proper  lung 
capacity  in  breathing.  Such  failure  is  due,  as  has  been  sug- 
gested, to  the  artificial  conditions  in  the  schools  and  in  the 
homes,  and  it  is  a  failure  which  needs  the  attention  of 
every  intelligent  worker  in  the  field  of  education. 

These  phonetic  exercises  may  be  termed  technical,  but 
surely  they  are  far  less  so  than  the  technicalities  of  read- 
ing and  writing  which  are  being  forced  without  hesitation 
upon  the  children  in  the  primary  school.  Technicalities 
of  pure  speech  should  precede  those  of  the  written  or 
printed  page. 

There  are  good  opportunities  for  preventive  work  here. 
Hundreds  of  thousands  of  youths  and  adults  are  now 
suffering  from  serious  speech  defects,  which  originated  in 
childhood  and  were  then  most  easily  remediable.  Primary 
teachers  are  dealing  with  this  childhood  age  when  the  speech 
habits  are  still  plastic.  They  can  do  something  to  prevent 
the  serious  defects  in  the  few,  and  still  more  to  correct 
in  the  many  the  milder  defects  of  slurring  and  deforming 
vowels  and  consonants.  With  the  speaking  voice,  as  with 
many  other  things,  there  is  a  normal  standard,  which  is 
distinctly  above  the  prevailing  average. 

Thought,  whether  written  or  spoken,  depends  upon  emo- 
tion, or  feeling,  and  takes  on  rhythmical  form  in  its  expres- 
sion. Little  children  are  sensitive  to  rhythm,  and  therefore 
the  habits  of  easy,  rhythmical,  flowing  speech  should  be 
established  during  the  instinctive,  language-building  period 
of  child  life.  The  schools  should  not  consume  the  time  of 
the  children  by  preparing  them  for  some  distant  future 
when  they  will  need  to  read  and  write,  but  should  fit  them 


PHONICS  AND  SPEECH  171 

for  a  happy  present  in  which  they  need,  every  hour  that 
they  live,  to  make  use  of  then:  voices  in  natural  communi- 
cation with  their  neighbors.  Children  are  thinking  all  the 
time,  and  if  oral  expression  of  thought  were  made  attractive 
and  aesthetic,  there  would  be  more  interest  in  reading  re- 
corded thought.  Most  people  would  learn  to  read,  even  if 
the  schools  were  abandoned ;  and  if  they  waited  to  attack 
the  reading  problem  until  they  were  mature,  they  would 
probably  read  more  fluently  and  intelligently.  Speech  is 
absolutely  necessary  from  babyhood  on,  and  children  will 
imitate  what  they  hear.  Speech  habits  are  bound  to  be 
formed  at  an  early  day,  and  if  they  are  incorrect  ones,  it  will 
be  almost  impossible  to  break  them.  No  individual,  in  what- 
ever walk  of  life,  can  afford  to  be  deprived  of  the  power 
and  influence  which  go  with  a  strong,  clear  speaking  voice, 
full  of  melody  and  flexibility. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LANGUAGE 

Language  cannot  be  taught,  but  must  be  evoked.  Speech 
is  the  incarnation  of  feeling  and  thought.  The  theme  and 
melody  of  a  bit  of  music  are  present  in  the  composer's  mind 
before  he  communicates  them  by  means  of  notation.  The 
notes  are  only  a  clumsy  representation  of  the  artist's  more 
intimate  ideas  and  feelings.  So  it  is  with  words,  which  are 
merely  the  signs  of  previously  conceived  ideas.  Ideas  spring 
from  experience  ;  the  more  varied  the  experience  the  larger 
the  stock  of  usable  ideas. 

Language  grows  out  of  the  social  instinct,  and  where 
this  instinct  is  dead,  as  it  is  in  most  schools,  language  too 
will  be  lifeless.  When  there  is  desire,  speech  comes  nat- 
urally, but  a  negative,  formal  schoolroom  attitude  stifles 
desire.  Man  has  a  language  capacity,  but  life  and  school 
must  provide  an  opportunity  for  its  development. 

The  language  of  a  nation  is  constantly  growing,  not  by 
any  fixed  laws  of  increase,  but  in  sympathy  with  new  con- 
ditions. New  objects,  new  discoveries,  new  'ideas,  demand 
new  words.  The  language  of  a  child  is  like  that  of  a  nation. 
The  listless,  idle,  overdocile  child  is  not  creating  new  images 
which  will  cry  for  words  to  clothe  them.  Little  children 
are  in  the  language-making  period.  They  have  keen  ears 
to  catch  fine  intonations,  and  sharp  eyes  with  which  to  ob- 
serve new  facts ;  and  yet  language  in  the  primary  grades 
is  usually  as  formal  as  the  orthodox  butler,  and  as  unorgan- 
ized as  the  tin  man  in  the  "  Wizard  of  Oz."  Language  is 

172 


LANGUAGE  173 

a  tool  which  must  not  only  be  preserved  from  rust,  but 
must  be  sharpened  to  do  its  work  with  precision  and  effect, 
that  thought  may  be  expressed  with  freedom,  clearness, 
and  correctness. 

Children  are  poets,  and  the  stimulus  they  need  for  the 
development  of  poetic  expression  is  direct  contact  with  na- 
ture. They  need  to  come  upon  surprises,  unexpected  like- 
nesses, and  alluring  lights  and  shadows.  Then  language 
takes  on  vividness  and  beauty.  Outdoor  life  stirs  the  chil- 
dren intellectually  too,  and  by  constantly  presenting  prob- 
lems for  solution  it  creates  a  fund  of  new  ideas.  These 
problems  are  to  be  solved  in  terms  of  comparison  and  con- 
trast which  arise  out  of  live  conditions  and  concrete  ex- 
periences. Out  of  this  first-hand  contact  will  come  nouns, 
adjectives,  and  apt  phrases.  The  child  of  the  outdoors 
will  naturally  say  "  as  gay  as  a  dandelion,"  "  as  black  as  a 
cloud  " ;  or,  as  a  little  five-year-old  boy  said  when  he  looked 
at  his  uncle's  rough,  mottled  gray  suit,  "That  makes  you 
look  like  a  horned  toad." 

Language  owes  much  to  the  startling  beauty  of  nature, 
and  children  are  more  alive  to  the  wonder,  mystery,  and 
newness  of  life  than  any  one  else.  They  are  ready  to  ac- 
cumulate the  impressions,  the  raw  material  out  of  which 
they  will  fashion  their  happiest  conceptions.  Unconsciously 
the  beauty  and  suggestion  of  life  surges  in  upon  them,  and 
their  hearts  are  overflowing  with  joy.  From  a  full  heart 
language  is  born.  The  morose  and  somber  are  silent,  but 
the  joyous  needs  must  speak. 

Children's  vocabulary  will  grow  naturally  if  they  live  in 
a  suggestive  environment.  They  should  be  allowed  to  hear 
the  stroke  of  the  hammer  in  the  workshop,  to  feel  the  soft- 
ness of  the  pussycat's  coat,  to  see  the  blue  of  the  sky,  to 
taste  the  honey  in  the  cups  of  the  flowers,  and  to  smell 


174      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

the  pungent  fall  odors.  The  great  Creator  gave  the  child  a 
voice,  but  it  is  a  mere  instrument  of  expression  upon  which 
experience,  imagination,  and  joy  must  play.  The  strings  of 
a  harp  will  be  silent  without  the  stroke  of  the  fingers,  the 
voice  without  the  push  of  desire. 

Language  lessons  are  frequently  as  ineffectual  as  our 
attempts  to  write  to  a  friend  with  whom  we  have  long  been 
out  of  touch.  What  is  there  to  say  ?  —  we  have  no  words 
because  we  have  no  ideas  which  compel  communication. 

If  you  would  foster  the  gift  of  language  in  the  children, 
throw  out  the  commonplace  classroom  expressions,  and 
introduce  variety  and  imagination  into  your  own  speech. 
Make  the  sensory  life  of  the  child  a  rich  field  from  which 
he  may  glean  striking  comparisons,  and  stir  his  imagina- 
tion to  make  use  of  them  in  attacking  new  ideas.  Begin  by 
changing  your  morning  greeting,  —  find  out  in  how  many 
ways  you  can  make  the  children  welcome  and  begin  the 
day ;  feast  their  ears  upon  a  variety  of  clear,  musical  Eng- 
lish ;  give  them  "  Mother  Goose  "  with  its  quaint  descrip- 
tions and  humorous  turns ;  let  them  listen  to  fairy  tale 
and  fable,  that  they  may  enlarge  their  vocabulary  and 
make  friends  of  new  words. 

Language  is  not  speech  alone  ;  it  is  the  communication 
of  ideas.  These  may  be  communicated  by  drawing,  mod- 
eling, and  handwork,  which  should  be  kept  in  close  rela- 
tion to  the  language  work.  The  dramatic  play  of  the  school 
is  coming  to  the  rescue  of  the  language  teacher  also,  for 
thought  is  communicated  by  gesture  as  well  as  by  voice. 
Children  are  in  the  pantomime  and  gesture  stage.  They 
should  be  encouraged  to  put  their  bodies  into  action  and 
the  facial  muscles  into  expressive  use.  Away  with  stolidity 
and  orthodox  position  if  you  would  have  the  children  learn 
to  talk  well ! 


LANGUAGE  175 

If  the  children  are  allowed  to  talk  naturally  and  freely, 
their  language  will  be  figurative,  for  personification  is  child- 
like. Children  believe  in  their  own  fancies.  Apparent  like- 
nesses and  accidental  associations  are  facts  to  them,  which 
call  out  quaint  and  original  expression.  Children  are  impres- 
sionable and  emotional,  and  their  images  are  strong  because 
they  grow  out  of  first-hand  contact  with  life  in  its  new- 
ness and  mystery.  See  to  it,  then,  that  the  school  environ- 
ment does  not  limit  the  contact  of  the  children  to  prosaic 
books  and  ugly  desks.  Make  room  for  the  instinctive  reac- 
tions toward  elemental  things, —  earth,  air,  water,  fire, —  and 
their  language  will  be  vigorous  and  effective.  Mere  object 
teaching  as  a  substitute  for  such  intimate  experiences  as  have 
been  suggested  is  a  delusion.  The  child  who  makes  a  formal 
sentence  about  an  orange,  a  book,  a  pencil,  held  up  before 
the  group  for  inspection,  is  only  giving  the  result  of  a  per- 
functory visual  contact  which  is  superficial  and  stultifying. 

There  are  many  types  of  successful  language  lessons, 
for  which  nature  study,  game  life,  and  daily  happenings 
furnish  suggestive  themes.  These  topics,  however,  must  be 
presented  in  the  form  of  problems,  and  developed  by  a  few 
leading  questions  which  quicken  curiosity  and  stimulate 
thinking.  The  primary  school  is  not  nearly  as  progressive 
as  it  would  have  the  world  believe.  Children  are  still 
memorizing  symbols,  only  we  have  cunningly  substituted 
words  and  sentences  instead  of  syllables.  It  is  the  solution 
of  problems  that  we  need.  Constructive  thinking  which 
makes  some  demand  upon  originality  will  develop  personal 
power,  but  the  dictated  exercises  and  memory  gems  of  the 
primary  school  call  for  neither  constructive  thinking  nor 
imagination.  The  wordiness  of  the  early  grades  accounts 
for  the  lack  of  initiative  and  power  of  individual  attack 
which  we  complain  of  in  the  grammar  school. 


176   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

Following  are  some  suggestions  for  language  work.  The 
suggestions  are  simple  and  are  intended  to  arouse  better 
ones  in  the  minds  of  those  who  read  them. 

1.  Bring  to  school  pictures  which  invite  discussions  and 
admit  of  original  interpretation  with  interesting  descriptive 
details.    Do  not  choose  pictures  which  merely  represent 
the  power  of  the  artist's  technique,  but  seize  upon  those 
which  excite  the  imagination  and  invite  speculation  as  to 
their  meaning. 

2.  Make  use  of  the  study  of  mountain,  park,  seashore, 
or  bit  of  local  history.    Allow  the  children  to  make  imagi- 
nary trips  to  some  of  these  favorite  haunts.    They  may 
represent  to  the  class  where  they  have  been  by  pantomime, 
or  by  telling  in  direct,  descriptive   sentences  what  they 
have  seen  or  heard.    Probably  a  child  will  choose  a  trip  to 
the  mountains  as  his  topic.   Perhaps  he  will  say  something 
like  the  following,  which  represents  the  description  of  a 
certain  first-grade  boy :  "  I  took  a  trip  one  day.    I  went  a 
long  way  from  home.    I  took  my  dog  and  my  father  car- 
ried his  gun.    I  saw  trees  and  pretty  running  water.     I 
waded  in  the  cool  water.   I  climbed  up,  up,  up.   Where  do 
you  think  I  went  ?  "    Did  not  that  child  gain  power  and 
discretion  in  the  use  of  words?    Is  not  this  a  more  vital 
recitation  than  the  repetition  of  something  which  he  had 
learned  by  heart  ? 

These  guessing  games  are  very  useful  and  may  be  ap- 
plied in  many  ways.  Children  love  to  describe  things  which 
they  have  seen,  heard,  or  touched.  Sometimes  the  problem 
will  be  to  describe  a  moving  object,  and  they  may  choose 
a  wagon  hauling  some  load,  a  train  coming  into  the  sta- 
tion, or,  as  one  child  did,  a  fly  crawling  over  the  window- 
pane.  Such  exercises  will  result  in  the  most  graphic  and 
interesting  descriptions  of  animals,  houses,  trains,  toys, 


LANGUAGE  177 

fruits,  flowers,  and  trees.  You  will  be  surprised  at  the  origi- 
nality shown,  and  the  precision  of  expression  gained.  Of 
course  the  teacher  must  direct  the  work  and  lead  the  chil- 
dren to  organize  what  they  have  to  say,  before  appearing  in 
front  of  the  group,  and  to  pick  out  the  large,  characteristic 
things  to  describe. 

3.  Keep  the  language  lessons  pictorial.    This  is  very 
easily  done  when  the  children  are  drawing  at  the  board. 
Give  them  the  written  symbols  for  the  objects  which  they 
have  drawn,  and  let  them  write  these  symbols  under  then- 
pictures.    After  a  little  practice  the  younger  children  will 
pass  from  the  mere  enumeration  of  objects  drawn,  to  de-. 
scriptive  sentences  about  the  picture  as  a  whole.    They 
will  write  very  terse  and  illuminating  remarks,  and  through 
such  experiences  make  an  easy  transition  to  the  regular 
written  work  of  the  school. 

4.  Let  the  children  read  very  simple  stories;  select  the 
ones  that  can  be  illustrated.    The  reading  should  be  done 
silently,  and  the  sentences  copied  and  illustrated.    Chil- 
dren enjoy  such  a  problem,  and  like  to  preserve  the  stories 
in  befbk  form. 

5.  Language  games  for  emphasizing  correct  forms  of 
speech  are,  of  course,  recommended.  The  danger  is  that  the 
child  who  is  saying  "seen,"  "done,"  and  "git"  may  be  put 
through  a  series  of  games  to  teach  him  to  say  precociously, 
"  It  was  not  I."    If  language  games  are  forced,  they  lose 
spontaneity  and  informality  and  miss  their  whole  point, 

—  which  is  to  bring  about  a  frequent,  natural,  and  con- 
versational use  of  certain  necessary  phrases.  If  these  games 
are  to  be  formal,  it  were  better  to  drop  them  from  the 
course  of  study,  and  insert  the  old  technical  instruction  in 
the  forms  of  speech  which  they  have  replaced.  Language 
needs  informal  atmosphere. 


178   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PKIMAKY  SCHOOL 

6.  The  children  may  be  encouraged  to  make  original 
stories  to  be  written  on  the  blackboard  by  the  teacher  and 
finally  read  by  the  class.  New  words  will  be  frequently 
introduced,  but  they  will  be  readily  remembered  because 
they  are  necessary  to  the  idea  which  the  children  are  trying 
to  express.  It  is  interesting  and  helpful  to  keep  a  list  of 
these  new  words  and  to  see  that  they  are  introduced  again 
in  reading  lessons. 

The  following  compositions  were  contributed  by  a  class 
of  A  1's,  —  the  first  after  constructing  an  Indian  village, 
and  the  second  after  a  nature-study  discussion. 

I 

We  made  an  Indian  Village. 
We  made  a  river  in  the  village. 
The  river  comes  from  the  mountain. 
It  runs  down  the  mountain. 
It  runs  right  in  front  of  the  Indian's  wigwam. 
The  Indian  likes  the  river. 
The  river  brings  fish  to  the  Indian. 
The  river  carries  the  Indian's  canoe. 

II 

It  digs  in  the  sand. 

It  cannot  climb,  nor  fly,  nor  run. 

It  walks  very  slowly. 

It  carries  its  house  with  it. 

It  draws  its  head  and  feet  into  its  house. 

Then  it  feels  quite  safe. 

No,  a  turtle  likes  the  water. 

It  is  a  tortoise. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  how  the  children  who  wrote 
these  stories  have  reflected  the  primitive  and  poetic  atti- 
tude toward  nature.  "  The  river  carries  the  Indian's  canoe, 
and  brings  fish  to  the  Indian"  are  expressions  of  their  con- 
ception of  inanimate  things,  which  they  always  endow  with 


LANGUAGE  179 

purpose  and  life.  Surely,  such  reading  material  is  far  better 
than  the  formal,  unchildlike,  and  unpbetical  lessons  to  be 
found  in  the  first  readers.  Children  have  more  instinct  for 
literature  than  the  bookmen. 

7.  Some  of  the  suggestions  referred  to  in  the  account 
of  dramatic  work  may  be  utilized  with  effect.  Indeed,  the 
children  should  not  be  expected  during  the  language  period 
to  pass  too  quickly  from  the  pantomime  and  pictorial  stages 
of  expression  which  make  the  transition  to  more  difficult 
written  work  easy. 

It  is  a  simple  matter  to  teach  the  little  children  correct 
written  form  from  the  very  beginning.  The  endless  oppor- 
tunities to  put  work  on  the  blackboard  bring  in  the  use  of 
capital  and  punctuation  marks  so  that  the  eye  of  the  child 
may  be  made  sensitive  to  form.  The  best  time  to  teach  the 
detail  of  written  form  is  when  the  children  contribute  the 
original  stories  which  have  been  referred  to  above.  At  these 
times  the  children  give  the  natural  phrasing  which  makes 
punctuation  a  necessity.  They  ask  the  questions  and  they 
see  the  need  of  question  mark  and  period.  When  an  exer- 
cise is  taken  from  a  book,  and  written  on  the  board  with 
the  punctuation  marks  left  out,  the  child  has  to  waste  time 
and  energy  wading  through  a  meaningless  jumble  of  words, 
and  only  the  negative  side  of  punctuation  is  emphasized. 
Moreover,  the  child  is  not  in  the  mood  of  the  paragraph,  and 
so  does  not  get  the  feeling  for  question  mark  or  exclama- 
tion point.  The  work  is  much  more  constructive  and  helpful 
when  the  child  punctuates  as  he  writes,  making  punctuation 
the  natural  and  habitual  accompaniment  of  thought. 

The  child  should  talk  well  before  he  reads  well,  for  oral 
expression  is  at  the  foundation  of  all  intelligent  reading. 
It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  interest  the  children  in  the 


180   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

simple,  homely  things  in  their  environment.  To  accomplish 
this,  assign  definite  problems  of  observation  to  particular 
children,  and  remember  to  ask  for  a  three-minute  report 
the  following  day.  For  instance,  let  a  child  observe  a  new 
building,  or  one  in  process  of  erection,  and  understand  that 
he  must  come  to  school  ready  to  tell  all  the  items  of  interest 
in  regard  to  it.  The  self-confidence  and  power  aroused  by 
the  ability  to  tell  a  bit  of  information  in  a  clear,  direct  way 
are  invaluable.  Even  such  a  simple  task  requires  intelligent 
organization  which  is  constructive  in  character,  and  which 
is  the  very  earnest  of  later  written  work.  What  the  chil- 
dren need  is  the  ability  to  talk  clearly  and  to  think  con- 
nectedly. We  do  not  need  so  much  written  work  in  the 
elementary  school,  but  we  do  need  more  enthusiasm,  naivete, 
and  curiosity  and  faith.  Let  the  children  be  awakened  to 
the  wonder  and  beauty  of  the  common  world,  that  they 
may  talk  from  a  deep  experience. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HANDWORK 

"  Utility "  is  the  watchword  of  the  twentieth  century, 
and  every  branch  of  human  effort  must  meet  the  test. 
Science  is  no  longer  satisfied  with  mere  speculation,  but 
has  become  the  willing  servant  of  mankind.  It  diligently 
searches  out  the  truth,  but  as  persistently  hunts  a  practical 
application  of  it.  Education  has  been  dragged  before  the 
bar  and  pleads  guilty.  In  consequence  it  has  been  forced 
to  throw  out  of  its  curricula  a  whole  list  of  tasks  which 
served  no  practical  purpose,  which  merely  enveloped  the 
student  in  complacent  wisdom  and  left  him  staring  help- 
lessly at  his  fellow  men.  Efficiency,  not  information,  has 
become  the  educational  ideal.  Brain  and  hand  must  work 
together  in  the  solution  of  life's  problems,  for  to  be  efficient, 
as  has  been  well  said,  is  to  put  thought  and  feeling  into 
forms  which  will  reach  the  thought  and  feeling  of  others. 
Little  children  are  by  nature  efficient,  for  they  are  distinctly 
motor  in  their  reactions.  They  turn  toward  construction 
instinctively,  and  handwork  in  the  schools  has  become  the 
surest  means  of  personal  expression  and  power. 

Children  need  plastic  material  upon  which  they  may 
stamp  their  mental  images.  They  need  a  medium  which 
will  receive  and  objectify  their  impressions.  The  construc- 
tive, representative  instinct  which  the  child  so  vigorously 
makes  use  of  is  nature's  way  of  helping  him  to  balance 
mental  accounts.  By  means  of  it  he  sifts  impressions,  and 
labels  them  for  use.  Use  establishes  intimacy,  possession. 

181 


182   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PKIMAEY  SCHOOL 

Wear  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  it  takes  on  the  individuality  of 
the  owner;  use  an  idea,  project  it,  give  it  form,  and  it 
becomes  a  personal  possession. 

The  child's  world  is  objective ;  his  images  are  based  upon 
sense  perceptions,  and  he  cares  for  immediate  and  visible 
embodiment  of  facts.  Let  him  register  the  ideas  he  receives 
in  some  form  of  motor  discharge.  Give  him  plenty  of  hand- 
work, for  it  will  make  use  of  the  impressions  of  sight,  sound, 
and  touch  under  the  fruitful  direction  of  his  creative  imagina- 
tion. Do  not  be  content  with  school  work  which  makes  use 
of  the  eye  alone,  but  provide  the  child  with  forms  of  expres- 
sion which  make  a  larger  demand  upon  his  sense  centers. 
Give  him  an  opportunity  to  coordinate  eye  and  hand  by 
offering  him  work  which  demands  their  cooperation. 

Handwork  gives  the  child  an  opportunity  for  efficiency 
in  social  service.  He  is  full  of  a  desire  to  help,  to  contrib- 
ute something.  In  his  undeveloped  state  his  service  must 
be  limited  to  the  things  which  he  can  do  with  his  hands. 
He  is  not  capable  of  protracted  effort,  but  the  simplicity 
and  finality  of  the  constructive  work  satisfy  his  desire  for 
direct  and  immediate  results.  Handwork  wisely  directed 
enables  the  child  to  contribute  things  of  beauty  and  value, 
and  therefore  arouses  a  social  pride. 

In  school  work  the  children  need  evidences  of  fruitful 
effort.  They  must  struggle  some  time  before  they  can  feel 
their  progress  in  reading  and  writing,  but  in  handwork  they 
can  fairly  possess  success.  They  feel  the  uplift  of  immediate 
achievement,  of  personal  power. 

Originality  of  expression  is  the  aim  of  handwork,  but 
originality  is  not  ready-made.  It  is  the  result  of  experience 
and  an  accompanying  increase  of  technique.  There  should 
be  as  definite  a  relation  between  the  demand  and  supply  of 
technique  in  handwork  as  there  is  between  the  demand  and 


HANDWORK  183 

supply  of  any  commodity.  The  demand  for  technique  should 
grow  out  of  the  use  of  a  variety  of  suggestive  material. 
Material  which  suggests  or  hints  a  process  will  make  a  de- 
mand upon  originality  and  call  for  technique.  Handwork 
may  not  be  judged  by  the  technical  results  obtained,  but 
by  the  knowledge  the  child  has  gained  of  the  uses  and  the 
possibilities  of  material. 

Handwork  belongs  to  the  realm  of  art.  It  is  intimate  and 
personal  in  character  and  is  a  question  of  individual  adjust- 
ment. It  demands  a  creative  atmosphere  and  does  not  thrive 
under  the  strict  silence  of  the  ordinary  school  period.  Joy- 
ous human  relations  must  surround  the  work  done  with 
the  hands.  The  children  should  be  allowed  and  encouraged 
to  share  their  work  with  one  another ;  to  compare,  discuss, 
and  lend  a  hand.  It  is  the  child  who  is  permitted  to  whirl 
the  finished  article  in  the  air  and  invite  admiration  of  it 
who  will  feel  the  glow  of  creativity.  The  child  who  follows 
the  solemn  dictation  of  his  teacher  and  then  silently  puts 
his  work  away  has  no  consciousness  of  victory.  He  will 
never  know  the  joy  of  the  true  craftsman.  If  some  freedom 
is  allowed  during  this  period,  many  boys  and  girls  will  re- 
ceive the  first  commendation  of  their  playmates  through  a 
bit  of  skillful  handwork.  This  glow  of  success  will  be  a 
revelation.  This  concrete  evidence  of  power  will  awaken 
new  energy  which  will  flow  over  into  other  lines  of  effort. 

What  is  the  moral  reaction  from  work  with  things  ?  The 
child's  ideas,  thoughts,  become  tangibly  visible.  Suppose 
all  thought  took  visible  form,  would  it  not  startle  some  of 
us  to  look  up  and  see  the  distorted  figure  of  our  habitual 
thoughts  ?  Handwork  must  be  true  and  clean  to  be  worth 
while.  A  lie  in  the  concrete  cannot  be  hidden  ;  it  carries  its 
results  with  it.  The  child  who  works  with  his  hands  must 
think,  deliberate,  and  stand  by  his  conclusions.  Exclusively 


184   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

intellectual  effort  is  subjective  and  incomplete,  and  may 
become  selfish  in  its  motive,  but  work  with  the  hands  is 
altruistic,  objective,  and  humanizing. 

Do  not  give  the  children  a  lot  of  characterless  objects  to 
make.  The  standard  of  handwork  should  be  use  or  beauty, 
or  both.  Keep  the  work  close  to  the  lives  of  the  little 
people.  Let  them  make  wagons,  jumping  jacks,  paper  dolls, 
boats,  and  engines.  Such  effort  will  do  more  to  establish 
honest  regard  for  property  than  all  the  sermons  you  can 
deliver.  Possessions,  accompanied  by  a  sense  of  the  labor 
involved  in  the  making,  will  open  a  new  page  of  ethics  to 
the  small  boy  or  girl.  The  child  who  makes  coat  hang- 
ers, tags,  holders  for  rubbers,  pencil  boxes,  etc.  is  protect- 
ing his  neighbor's  property  as  well  as  his  own.  He  is 
learning  self-respect  and  independence  by  supplying  his 
own  wants  by  the  work  of  his  hands. 

Every  primary  room  should  contain  a  sand  table  upon 
which  may  be  set  up  illustrative  work.  Each  child  may 
have  a  part  in  building  the  farm,  the  Indian  or  the  Eskimo 
village,  the  circus  or  store.  Community  work  and  a  common 
responsibility  establish  a  feeling  of  comradeship  of  which 
the  schools  are  sorely  in  need.  It  gives  an  opportunity  for 
just  comparisons  and  mutual  suggestions.  The  children  will 
work  in  pairs  or  in  groups  of  three  or  four,  solving  their 
problems  independently  but  being  obliged  to  conform  to  the 
general  purpose  or  plan.  If  the  added  joy  of  secrecy  is  given 
by  making  something  to  present  to  another  grade,  the  enthu- 
siasm and  effort  of  the  children  will  pass  all  expectations. 

This  community  spirit  is  contagious,  and  boys  and  girls 
from  the  fourth,  fifth,  even  sixth  and  seventh  grades,  have 
been  known  to  make  daily  visits  to  the  primary  room  "  to 
see  what  the  kids  are  making  now."  The  next  step  is  to 
ask  if  they  may  contribute  something.  Indeed,  the  school 


HANDWORK  185 

is  running  over  with  these  opportunities  for  cooperation, 
self-help,  and  personal  pleasure  in  work,  but  these  vital, 
human  aspects  of  life  do  not  flourish  in  a  silent,  austere 
atmosphere.  They  are  set  going  by  the  light  of  enthusiasm 
in  the  teacher's  eye  and  by  the  wisdom  of  what  seems  to 
be  undirected  effort. 

Handwork  is  frequently  criticized  because  the  material 
used  is  so  expensive.  This  is  a  just  criticism,  and  every 
teacher  should  make  it  a  matter  of  pride  to  search  out  cheap 
material  and  not  be  content  to  check  off  long  lists  of  costly 
stuff  for  the  school  boards  to  pay  for.  For  instance,  why 
order  tilo-matting  for  the  free-hand  sewing  when  coffee 
sacking,  which  grocery  stores  sell  for  a  song,  makes  a  fine 
substitute  ?  Old  kodak  rolls,  which  the  proprietors  give 
away  for  the  asking,  may  be  used  for  silhouettes  in  free- 
hand cutting,  whereas  the  black  paper  used  for  that  pur- 
pose is  very  expensive.  Spools,  ribbons,  old  chalk  boxes, 
newspapers,  scraps  of  wood  from  the  manual-training  shop 
which  are  usually  thrown  out,  and  nature  material  brought 
by  the  children  offer  endless  opportunities.  A  bottle  of 
paste  made  of  flour  and  water  costs  a  few  cents,  while  the 
bottles  bought  by  the  schools  come  nearer  to  the  dollar 
mark.  For  large  brush  work  with  the  younger  children  do 
not  use  paints,  and  then  have  all  the  parents  asking  that  art 
work  be  omitted,  but  make  an  order  of  cheap  dyes  which 
come  in  all  the  standard  colors  and  are  easily  handled. 
In  many  cases  ordinary  pasteboard  will  take  the  place  of 
bristol  board,  and  manila  paper,  which  is  cheap,  may  be 
adapted  to  a  thousand  purposes. 

The  character  of  the  primary  work  should  retain  the 
kindergarten  flavor.  The  primary  child,  is  still  a  kinder- 
garten child,  with  a  little  more  conscious  purpose,  with  in- 
creased power  of  concentration,  added  control  of  material, 


186      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

and  a  more  organized  imagination.  His  tastes  and  joys  are 
almost  identical.  Give  him  large,  coarse,  flexible  material ; 
let  him  choose  the  material  best  adapted  to  his  work  and 
have  the  judgment  to  discard  what  is  impractical.  Let  ex- 
pression rather  than  technique  be  the  guide  in  the  choice 
of  exercises  given.  Take  time  to  let  the  children  suggest 
how  to  make  the  object ;  let  them  discuss  ways  and  means, 
not  follow  directions  wholly ;  give  the  child  one  step  in 
the  process  and  let  him  figure  out  the  next;  some  of  the 
directions  given  in  handwork  with  such  precision  are  as 
unnecessary  as  lifting  a  child's  feet  when  he  climbs  the 
stairs.  When  similar  or  familiar  processes  are  used  do  not 
tell  them  over  again,  but  let  the  children  apply  what  has 
been  already  learned.  Seize  upon  occasional  days  for  free 
work.  This  is  best  accomplished  by  putting  a  lot  of  sugges- 
tive material  —  such  as  boxes,  spools,  a  variety  of  shapes 
and  sizes  of  wood,  paste,  paper,  scissors,  yarn,  etc.  —  on  the 
table  and  allowing  the  children  to  choose  what  they  will 
make,  the  kind  of  material  they  will  use,  and  how  they  will 
make  the  article  chosen.  Even  little  children  can  make  win- 
dow boxes,  clay  flowerpots,  cages  for  animals,  strings  and 
tassels  for  the  curtains,  and  many  other  little  devices  for 
the  comfort  and  cleanliness  of  the  schoolroom. 

Joyous,  purposeful  activity  is  the  secret  of  honest  living. 
Little  children  come  to  the  school  with  a  gift  for  being  busy. 
The  business  of  the  schools  is  to  transform  this  tendency 
into  purposeful  work.  Children  are  not  inherently  idle  or 
lazy.  Idleness  and  laziness  are  the  scars  left  by  hours  of 
joyless,  distasteful  work.  So  long  as  work  is  defined  as 
an  unwelcome  task,  so  long  will  idleness  increase.  School 
work  need  not  be  irksome  in  order  to  be  profitable,  but 
should  be  the  wholesome  expression  of  changing  tastes 
and  increasing  power. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LITERATURE 

If  our  modern  -doctrines  of  education  were  faith,  not 
theory ;  if  we  honestly  believed  in  preserving  to  childhood 
its  imagination,  its  emotional  life,  its  ideals,  and  its  humor, 
the  so-called  reading  in  the  primary  school  would  give 
place  to  the  absorption  of  good  literature.  The  word  "  liter- 
ature "  does  not  take  on  a  sufficiently  clear  meaning  in  the 
minds  of  teachers.  We  do  not  have  it  in  the  schools  because 
we  are  not  sure  what  constitutes  it.  A  mature  person  has 
the  privilege  of  exercising  personal  judgment  in  the  choice 
of  what  he  will  read;  he  may  discard  what  falls  short  of 
personal  approval.  A  child  has  no  such  privilege ;  he  must 
base  his  standards  and  ideals  upon  the  reading  matter  dealt 
out  to  him.  When  that  reading  matter  is  made  up  of  the 
incongruous  stuff  contained  in  the  average  primer,  what  is 
to  become  of  taste  and  discrimination  ? 

Not  one  teacher  in  five  hundred  is  bringing  literature  to 
little  children.  If  she  interests  them  she  thinks  all  is  well. 
Interest  is  no  criterion  in  this  connection,  for  a  child  will 
listen  to  almost  anything  put  in  story  form.  Literature  is 
a  question  of  units  of  thought,  of  taste,  discrimination,  and 
emotion.  Much  of  the  story  work  done  in  the  grades  is 
as  demoralizing  as  vaudeville  music ;  it  is  dissipating  and 
cheap.  We  need  to  form  standards  of  choice  in  the  selec- 
tion of  literature ;  we  need  to  have  some  convictions  upon 
the  subject  which  will  guide  us  in  our  choice.  Many  stories 
told  in  the  early  grades  are  aimless  jumbles  of  words,  with 

187 


188      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PKIMAKY  SCHOOL 

nothing  to  recommend  them  but  a  kind  of  sticky  morality. 
They  follow  no  preconceived  plan  and  arrive  at  no  ade- 
quate conclusion.  Such  stories  arrest  mental  development 
by  their  fluid  imbecility. 

How  may  we  recognize  a  good  bit  of  literature  ?  How 
may  we  determine  whether  a  story  is  worth  telling  ? 
Every  good  story  is  made  up  of  essentials  as  necessary 
to  its  structure  as  bone  and  muscle  to  the  human  frame. 
It  has  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end.  It  is  a  series  of 
related  incidents,  each  one  illuminating  the  other  and  all 
converging  upon  the  climax.  Before  selecting  a  story,  see 
whether  you  can  write  an  outline  of  it  in  one  or  two 
short  sentences. 

Literature,  like  life,  is  made  up  of  action  —  action  so 
vigorous  that  it  overcomes  all  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its 
success.  As  in  life,  the  characters  in  a  story  should  be 
individual,  and  full  of  purpose. 

Children's  stories  should  be  dramatic  ;  that  is,  they  should 
be  full  of  vim,  vigor,  and  sequence.  The  plan  of  a  story 
should  resemble  that  of  a  simple  drama ;  you  should  look 
for  an  introduction  or  opening,  in  which  the  boards  are 
cleared  and  the  characters  introduced;  there  should  be  a  set- 
ting of  time  and  place,  with  a  natural  progression  toward  a 
climax.  Look  over  many  of  the  accepted  children's  stories 
and  see  whether  there  is  any  "  economy  of  incident,"  or 
whether  most  of  them  are  not  made  up  of  a  number  of 
unrelated  incidents  pointing  to  no  adequate  conclusion. 
Unity,  action,  sequence,  and  climax  should  characterize  the 
construction  of  a  story.  Imagine  a  house  built  without  a 
preconceived  plan  ;  what  loss  of  tune,  what  waste  space  and 
confusion,  would  result !  A  story  w.ithout  a  definite  method 
of  procedure  is  even  more  distressing,  for  it  leads  to  a  lack 
of  organization  in  the  thinking  of  the  children. 


LITERATURE  189 

Good  literature  organizes  the  imagination,  and  affords 
good  mental  training.  The  simplicity  of  children's  stories 
is  no  obstacle.  Take  the  so-called  constructive  stories,  such 
as  "  The  Little  Red  Hen,"  "  The  Old  Woman  and  her  Pig," 
etc.  Every  incident  in  these  stories  grows  out  of  the  pre- 
ceding and  necessitates  the  following.  One  cannot  take 
out  one  step  in  the  process  without  destroying  the  whole 
fabric  of  the  story.  These  constructive  stories,  overlooked 
by  many  and  considered  permissible  nonsense  by  others, 
hold  in  their  make-up  the  essentials  of  good  literature. 
Why  ?  Because  there  is  a  simple  plot,  a  main  action,  a 
steady  movement  toward  a  climax,  and  a  unity  of  purpose 
which  never  falters  until  the  tale  is  told.  The  character  is 
introduced,  the  setting  stated,  the  action  set  going  without 
quibble  or  delay.  These  stories  also  contain  a  fair  meas- 
ure of  suspense,  a  point  of  highest  interest,  an  unraveling 
of  the  difficulty,  and  a  definite  conclusion.  Such  stories 
are  moral  in  their  influence,  for  they  lead  the  mind  step 
by  step  through  a  series  of  organized  incidents  toward  a 
legitimate  conclusion. 

"  Mother  Goose,"  which,  after  all,  represents  the  childish 
heartbeats  of  the  race,  is  too  much  neglected.  The  primary 
teacher  who  cannot  see  the  naivete,  humor,  and  sugges- 
tion of  "Mother  Goose";  who  cannot  swing  to  its  rhythm, 
or  enjoy  the  variety  of  its  action,  should  ask  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  some  place  in  the  elementary  school  where  infor- 
mation, not  humanity,  rules.  What  does  "Mother  Goose" 
offer  to  the  children  ?  Why  is  it  called  good  literature  ? 
First,  it  has  plot,  the  very  beginning  of  it.  A  good  short 
story  has  a  simple  plot,  and  usually  magnifies  one  charac- 
ter or  incident.  Again,  the  people  who  jump  through  the 
pages  of  "Mother  Goose"  have  real  individuality,  character. 
Old  Mother  Hubbard,  Little  Tommy  Grace,  live  in  the 


190   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

mind  of  childhood  as  tenaciously  as  some  of  Shakespeare's 
characters  live  in  mature  minds.  It  is  only  a  question 
of  development,  analysis,  complexity.  The  characters  of 
"Mother  Goose"  are  merely  outline  sketches,  as  incomplete 
and  yet  as  suggestive  as  children's  drawings.  "  Mother 
Goose "  has  movement,  climax,  and  heroic  justice.  The 
characters  in  it  quickly  meet  their  natural  fate,  irrespec- 
tive of  manners  and  morals.  There  is  no  false  altruism 
to  suspend  judgment,  but  the  lively  little  characters  are 
born  to  act,  and  to  meet  the  consequences  of  their  actions, 
with  a  promptness  and  decision  which  leave  no  room  for 
argument. 

"  Mother  Goose  "  is  imaginative,  and  deals  with  the  un- 
expected, the  unusual,  the  grotesque,  and  the  deliciously 
human.  It  offers  a  succession  of  pictures  with  such  simple 
incident  that  the  children  can  visualize  them  as  they  go. 
"  Mother  Goose  "  is  full  of  rime,  alliteration,  music.  The 
ear  is  tickled  by  the  pronounced  and  constantly  changing 
rhythm.  "  Mother  Goose  "  is  so  childlike  that  it  awakens 
an  emotional  response,  and  an  emotional  response  means 
personal  interest. 

"  Mother  Goose "  offers  a  study  of  motive  within  the 
child's  comprehension,  and  starts  some  analysis  of  character 
which  is  most  suggestive.  There  is  always  a  problem  to  be 
solved.  Each  sketch  is  a  simple  problem  represented  as 
swiftly  and  as  clearly  as  a  moving  picture.  The  whole  story 
is  grasped  by  the  children  in  its  completeness,  yet  these 
small  units  contain  the  essentials  of  more  complex  stories. 

Good  literature  should  bring  vivid  phases  of  life  to  the 
children,  out  of  which  each  child  may  take  what  he  needs, 
what  he  is  ready  for.  Each  child's  heart,  by  inheritance  and 
experience,  is  attuned  to  certain  responses ;  it  is  hospitable 
to  certain  suggestions  and  ready  for  certain  conclusions ;  it 


LITERATURE  191 

will  eagerly  grasp  that  for  which  it  is  prepared.  Literature, 
therefore,  may  not  be  put  up  in  handy  pellets.  One  may 
not  teach  honesty  on  specific  days  with  specific  stories,  but 
instead  should  tell  stories  just  as  they  come  from  the  heart 
of  the  race,  with  all  their  ideality  and  suggestion.  The 
heart  of  the  child  will  seize  upon  that  which  touches  it. 

Literature  is  an  art  as  elusive  as  moon  shadows  on  a  still 
night.  It  exists  for  its  beauty  —  beauty  of  structure,  lan- 
guage, and  theme,  woven  together  by  the  threads  of  human 
life.  It  must  reflect  life,  as  the  clear  stream  carries  on  its 
waters  the  image  of  the  overhanging  tree. 

To  achieve  results  in  literature  the  children  must  have 
something  more  than  a  good  story :  they  must  have  a  good 
story-teller,  —  one  with  quick  sympathies  and  an  intuitive 
knowledge  of  her  group  ;  one  who  loves  the  old  stories,  who 
feels  the  pulse  of  humanity  throbbing  through  them  all ; 
whose  voice  is  clear,  flexible,  interpretive ;  whose  language 
is  simple,  direct,  pictorial ;  who  enters  into  a  dramatic  situ- 
ation ;  who  has  a  keen  sense  of  humor ;  who  is  willing  to 
sow  the  seed  and  let  it  develop  in  its  own  good  time. 

A  few  years  ago  the  Story-Teller's  League  was  organized, 
and  this  is  doing  something  to  bring  to  the  children  good 
stories,  well  told.  Library  training  schools  have  also  under- 
taken to  train  professional  story-tellers.  But  the  primary 
teacher  should  jealously  guard  and  exercise  her  own  per- 
sonal privilege  to  tell  good  stories  in  the  familylike  inti- 
macy of  her  schoolroom.  "  The  one  supreme  need  in  all 
this  story  and  child-reading  movement,"  says  G.  Stanley 
Hall,  "  is  to  eliminate  not  the  vile,  for  that  is  readily  de- 
tected, but  the  second  and  third  best  from  the  first  best. 
.  .  .  The  vital  problem  is  to  produce  and  identify  the  very 
best,  and  to  save  children  from  the  second  best,  and  to  get 
the  true  and  normal  child  point  of  view." 


192   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMARY  SCHOOL 

It  would  take  too  much  space  to  enumerate  lists  of  good 
stories.  Excellent  lists  may  be  obtained  from  the  Pittsburgh 
Library.  It  may  not  be  out  of  place,  however,  to  suggest 
certain  types  of  stories  which  should  guide  teachers  in  their 
selection.  Besides  fairy  tales,  myths,  and  legends,  the  liter- 
ature period  should  make  room  for  stories  of  primitive  man 
and  his  industries;  stories  of  lumbermen,  fishermen,  fire- 
men, sailors,  and  soldiers ;  stories  of  shepherd  life,  of  chil- 
dren of  many  different  lands,  of  discovery  and  inventions. 
Children  should  know  how  the  work  of  the  world  is  done, 
and  be  filled  with  admiration  for  the  men  and  women  who 
give  their  lives  to  its  arduous  tasks.  Good  literature  should 
establish  a  philosophy  of  life,  and  awaken  a  supreme  faith 
in  humanity. 

It  is  sympathy,  humanity,  and  an  understanding  of  life 
that  we  need.  Any  one  can  accumulate  facts  in  regard  to 
life,  but  to  know  it,  to  love  it,  to  live  it,  one  must  feel  its 
beating  pulse  in  literature.  Every  teacher  of  primary  chil- 
dren should  steep  herself  in  the  old  stories  which  tell  the 
struggle  and  victory  of  the  race.  Such  stories  as  Dasent 
tells  are  simple,  frank,  earnest,  and  pure-hearted.  They 
deal  with  elemental  emotions,  childlike  conceptions,  and 
will  be  forever  young.  They  do  not  take  account  of  the 
sophistication  of  later  civilization,  but  carry  one  by  leaps 
and  bounds  through  the  wild  country  of  imagination  and 
heroic  adventure.  They  are  direct.  In  them  cause  and 
effect  follow  each  other  so  naturally  that  they  are  within 
the  grasp  of  the  child  mind.  They  are  full  of  mood  and 
poetry,  and  the  children  are  stirred  by  them.  These  classic 
stories  deal  naively  with  the  fundamental  relations  of  man 
and  woman.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  the  fundamental  relations 
of  life  depicted  in  these  stories.  Many  an  opportunity  will 
arise,  if  one  does  not  rob  the  story  of  its  simplicity  and 


LITERATURE  193 

spontaneity,  to  bring  to  the  children  the  purity  and  signifi- 
cance of  those  deeper  human  relations  of  mother  and  child, 
man  and  woman,  brother  and  sister.  Why  should  such  a 
line  as  the  following  be  omitted,  or  subjected  to  censor- 
ship :  "And  every  night  the  prince  lay  down  beside  her  "  ? 
Literature  gives  the  opportunity  to  state  facts  and  intimate 
relations  in  a  vein  of  naturalness,  beauty,  and  purity  which 
open  the  door  of  life  and  invite  the  pure  of  heart  to  enter. 
The  sophisticated  mind  must  not  read  into  simple  relations 
that  which  does  not  exist  in  the  realm  of  childhood,  but 
allow  literature  to  state  the  truths  of  life  in  all  their  poetry 
and  romance.  The  serious,  the  humorous,  the  sublime,  and 
the  pathetic  start  out  of  literature  as  suddenly  and  as  natu- 
rally as  bees  from  the  cups  of  flowers,  for  life  is  the  sum 
of  all  these  emotions,  and  literature  is  its  image  thrown 
upon  the  heart  of  the  race. 


CHAPTER  XV 

READING 

The  primary  teacher  is  not  allowed  to  determine  whether 
the  six -year-old  child  is  ready  to  master  the  technicalities 
of  the  printed  page.  She  is  instructed  to  proceed  with 
the  course  of  study  without  discussion  of  its  merits,  and  her 
problem  is  solely  one  of  method.  How  can  she  acquaint 
the  child  with  the  symbols  of  the  printed  page  with  the 
least  unnecessary  expenditure  of  energy  ?  Where  is  the 
line  of  least  resistance,  and  what  instincts  or  capacities 
has  the  child  which  may  be  directed  toward  this  end  ? 

The  kindergarten  child  enters  the  first  grade  with  a 
vigorous  command  of  language  and  with  an  unlimited  ca- 
pacity for  speech  development.  His  mind  is  stored  with 
concrete  imagery,  and  he  should  have  accumulated  rich  ex- 
periences of  sight,  sound,  and  touch.  He  has  represented 
his  experiences  in  the  crude,  bold  outlines  of  drawing,  mod- 
eling, and  paper  cutting.  Such  a  background  of  images 
and  experiences  is  the  prerequisite  for  reading.  He  comes 
to  the  first  grade  eager  to  project  these  images,  for  he  is  still 
in  the  picture-making  age.  Picture  making  is  his  means 
of  communication,  and  if  he  has  no  material  to  use,  he  will 
even  resort  to  shadow  pictures  to  express  his  thought. 
He  is  ready  and  eager  to  illustrate  his  own  first  reader, 
and  should  be  allowed  to  do  so. 

Little  children  in  this  initial  stage  of  reading  have  no 
use  for  a  textbook.  They  should  read  only  from  those  of 
their  own  making.  They  should  begin  to  connect  object 

194 


READING  195 

and  written  symbol  by  being  encouraged  to  tag  or  name 
the  pictures  they  have  drawn.  Such  work  gives  a  feeling 
of  possession  and  intimacy  with  words  .which  the  orthodox 
primer  never  can  awaken.  Give  the  children  large  sheets 
of  manila  paper  and  a  crayon,  and  let  them  begin  there  and 
then  to  combine  picture  and  symbol  in  a  book  of  their  own 
making.  As  capacity  for  remembering  and  representing 
symbols  grows,  small  pictures  cut  from  magazines  may  be 
used  instead  of  the  drawings,  and  the  writing  gradually 
reduced  to  a  corresponding  size.  The  child  with  a  bit  of 
encouragement  soon  passes  the  tagging  stage,  and  will 
express  his  thought  in  short,  simple  sentences.  These  sen- 
tences will  provide  for  abundant  repetition  of  the  same 
symbols  without  intervention  of  the  teacher  with  her  pre- 
scribed lists  of  arbitrary  words.  The  child  naturally  repeats 
himself,  and  his  interests  are  so  uniform  that  a  teacher 
with  half  an  eye  can  see  to  it  that  the  child  acquires  a 
definite  and  ample  vocabulary.  The  results  of  this  kind 
of  composition  will  bear  inspection  in  regard  to  the  choice 
and  use  of  words  better  than  the  stupid  reiterations  of  the 
average  primer. 

In  spite  of  theory  to  the  contrary,  we  are  still  putting 
the  cart  before  the  horse,  as  of  old.  We  boast  of  new 
methods,  and  flatter  ourselves,  because  we  have  laid  aside 
the  A  B  C's  of  our  forefathers,  that  we  have  arrived  at 
unique  and  practical  instruction  in  the  art  of  reading.  Visit 
the  schools  and  see  whether  this  is  true.  See  whether  the 
children  are  not  studying  tiresome  lists  of  isolated  words 
and  reading  the  vapid,  unrelated  sentences  which  are  spilled 
over  a  prescribed  number  of  pages.  There  is  no  doubt 
but  that  the  children's  minds  are  being  stored  with  visual 
images  of  empty  symbols  in  the  hope  that  some  time  in 
the  future  they  will  tie  a  thought  to  them. 


196   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

Children  have  a  record-making  tendency  and  arrive  very 
early  at  a  period  when  they  begin  to  substitute  signs  for 
ideas.  This  natural  desire  to  record  facts  and  events  may  be 
used  advantageously  in  the  teaching  of  reading.  Records 
should  be  made  of  personal  experiences,  of  observation,  dis- 
covery, and  of  results  of  constructive  work.  For  the  very 
young  child  these  records  should  be  purely  pictorial.  But 
as  he  enjoys  a  greater  variety  of  experiences  and  grows  in 
the  power  to  represent  them,  picture  and  symbol  should  be 
combined.  Finally,  he  will  lay  aside  picture  making  and 
be  ready  to  cope  with  the  technicalities  of  the  printed  or 
written  page. 

The  average  reader  eliminates  the  personal  element,  and 
substitutes  a  series  of  sophisticated  sentences  which  will 
force  the  repetition  of  particular  words,  irrespective  of  the 
child's  need  of  them.  The  compilers  of  these  books  proceed 
upon  the  presumption  that  a  child  must  be  presented  with 
a  ready-made  vocabulary,  so  that  if  he  should  chance  to 
think  for  himself  at  some  future  time,  he  will  have  the  means 
of  expressing  his  thought.  Vocabulary  does  not  grow  in 
this  way.  Words  come  dancing  into  the  child's  mind  fast 
enough  when  they  are  invited  to  clothe  ideas.  Necessity 
is  truly  the  mother  of  invention,  and  children  have  been 
known  to  coin  their  own  words  to  express  new  ideas.  The 
imitative  lip  reading  of  the  early  grades  will  never  make  in- 
telligent readers  nor  build  up  language  power.  The  forced 
and  dramatic  repetition  of  these  inoffensively  commonplace 
reader  sentences  is  affectation,  not  interpretation.  When 
feeling  is  genuine,  the  voice  will  make  it  known.  Does  any 
one  have  to  force  a  child  to  exclaim  over  a  Christmas  tree 
or  a  kite  ?  So-called  expression  in  the  early  grades  is  all 
overdone.  Most  of  the  material  is  too  stupidly  common- 
place to  call  for  oral  expression  at  all.  The  whole  purpose 


READING  197 

of  reading,  which  should  be  to  think  by  means  of  the 
printed  symbol,  is  buried  under  the  ruinous  temptation  of 
the  schools  to  make  precocious  readers.  These  little  super- 
ficial word-tellers  tickle  the  false  pride  of  parents  and  win 
approval  from  doubtful  superintendents,  but  they  lose  the 
power  to  think,  or  to  get  thought  from  the  printed  page. 

There  is  entirely  too  much  oral  reading  in  the  early 
grades.  We  should  substitute  abundant  silent  reading,— 
silent,  earnest  grappling  with  the  printed  page  to  get  some 
needed  information.  There  should  be  discussion,  question- 
ing, exchange  of  ideas  between  teacher  and  pupil,  but  a 
very  limited  amount  of  oral  reading.  The  child,  in  reading 
the  simple  sentences  which  are  within  his  capacity,  has  no 
occasion  for  oral  reading.  The  prevailing  habit  of  voicing 
empty  phrases,  and  of  substituting  for  interpretive  thinking 
insistent  emphasis  upon  tone,  position,  and  correctness,  is 
disastrous  to  self-culture. 

The  silent  reading  referred  to  does  not  mean  that  a  child 
may  not  vocalize  what  he  reads.  In  fact,  this  is  just  what  \ 
he  should  do  when  grappling  with  new  material.  Silent 
reading  means  reading  to  one's  self  to  find  out  something,  . 
in  distinction  from  the  perfunctory  reading  aloud  to  the 
teacher  and  the  class.  Such  declamation  is  precocious, 
elocutionary,  inartistic ;  it  absolutely  vitiates  wholesome 
expression.  It  is  true  that  the  ear  must  reenforce  the  eye 
in  the  early  process  of  reading,  but  it  is  only  the  child 
himself  who  needs  to  hear  what  he  reads.  His  vocalization 
needs  to  be  barely  audible,  and  should  not  disturb  any  one. 
The  child  has  acquired  his  spoken  language  entirely  through 
the  ear,  therefore  the  sound  of  a  word  calls  up  its  mean- 
ing far  more  readily  than  the  sight  of  a  word.  This  necessity 
for  vocalization  represents  a  transition  period,  and  the  child 
should  be  permitted  to  vocalize  as  long  as  it  is  an  aid  to 


198   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

interpretation.  Children  vary  in  this  respect,  and  individual 
differences  should  be  respected.  In  some  children  this  con- 
nection between  the  nerve  centers  of  hearing  and  articu- 
lation is  as  deep-seated  as  right-handedness  or  any  other 
innate  tendency. 

The  symbols  with  which  the  child  comes  in  contact 
should  provide  information,  reenf orce  experience,  clarify  his 
thinking.  Their  mastery  should  enable  him  to  get  thought 
independently  from  the  printed  page.  If  such  an  ideal  is 
borne  in  mind,  how  many  tedious  hours  of  oral  reading  will 
be  taken  out  of  the  school.  Through  silent  reading  the  chil- 
dren are  taught  to  seize  upon  the  high  places,  to  get  at  the 
substance  of  the  thing  read,  and  to  put  their  energy  into 
thought-getting  instead  of  into  artificial  delight  in  the  sound 
of  their  own  voices. 

The  difficulties  of  mastering  the  printed  page  are  as 
great  as  any  ever  offered  by  the  elementary  school,  and 
yet  we  complacently  present  them  to  the  child  of  six,  and 
are  impatient  of  progress.  The  mature  man  or  woman,  to 
whom  the  technicalities  of  reading  are  perfectly  simple, 
is  allowed  to  fix  his  eyes  upon  his  book  and  to  read  with- 
out interruption.  The  child,  on  the  contrary,  who  does  not 
know  how  to  keep  his  place,  whose  eyes  are  not  coordi- 
nated for  the  finer  movements  required  by  reading,  is  made 
to  look  up  after  every  line,  and  to  give  out  a  vapid  sen- 
tence, such  as  "  Willie  has  a  hat,"  with  the  inflection  and 
satisfaction  of  a  scientific  discovery.  A  small  boy  whose 
initiation  into  reading  had  been  unaccountably  difficult 
came  home  one  day  radiant  with  delight.  He  had  been 
finally  allowed  to  go  into  the  second  grade  on  trial.  He 
said :  "  O  mother,  now  I  can  read  all  right.  My  teacher 
lets  me  read  just  the  way  papa  does,  and  does  not  make 
me  lift  my  eyes  up  and  smile  after  every  story."  Such 


BEADING  199 

interrupted,  piecemeal  reading  is  a  destroyer  of  thought, 
and  focuses  the  mind  absolutely  upon  the  mechanics  of 
the  printed  page. 

It  is  only  fair  that  the  reading  of  the  primary  school 
should  be  subjected  to  inspection  and  realize  some  literary 
standard.  A  child  should  read  for  two  reasons :  to  add  to 
the  sum  of  his  knowledge,  and  for  pure  delight;  that  is, 
for  the  dramatic  or  humorous  or  storylike  quality  of  what  he  • 
reads.  Submit  the  reading  lessons  of  the  primary  school 
to  such  a  test,  and  how  many  of  them  belong  in  the  waste- 
basket  ?  Reading  should  not  be  an  end  in  itself,  nor  should 
it  be  accidental,  but  it  should  be  an  illuminating  accom- 
paniment to  the  literature,  handwork,  history,  and  geog- 
raphy of  the  grade.  With  younger  children  this  ideal  can 
only  be  upheld  by  making  free  use  of  the  blackboard. 
The  children  should  make  their  own  reading  lessons,  with 
the  teacher.  These  lessons  should  be  written  in  large,  bold 
script  on  the  blackboard,  so  that  they  may  be  summaries 
of  the  day's  work,  put  together,  changed,  or  erased,  as  the 
needs  of  the  children  demand.  Only  when  the  early  work 
is  made  up  of  sentences  taken  from  the  personal  daily 
interests  of  the  children  will  it  be  vital.  Only  the  events 
and  facts  in  which  they  have  taken  part  are  worth  record- 
ing if  the  children  are  to  be  required  to  read  the  records. 
Reading  lessons  which  are  made  with  the  class  are  con- 
structive in  character;  they  take  on  the  quality  of  the 
handwork  which  so  fascinates  and  educates.  What  the 
reading  lessons  need  is  a  feeling  of  creativity  on  the  part 
of  the  child.  This  is  accomplished  when  a  child  is  encour- 
aged to  picture  his  own  experiences  in  simple  sentences,  and 
to  become  a  factor  in  the  construction  of  the  story  which 
he  is  to  read.  Is  there  in  the  average  reading  lesson  any- 
thing like  the  sensation  which  the  child  gets  in  handwork 


200   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

when  he  makes  a  wagon,  and  then  pulls  it  along  the  floor  ? 
The  triumph  of  construction,  the  personal  glow,  the  added 
power,  and  a  desire  for  more  work  of  a  similar  character 
are  conspicuously  absent  in  reading  lessons.  Such  will 
continue  to  be  the  case  until  the  teacher  lays  aside  long 
lists  of  words  to  be  memorized,  and  seizes  upon  lists  of 
kindred  topics  out  of  which  a  childlike  vocabulary  will 
•pour  as  water  from  a  bottle.  Words  are  mere  instruments 
of  thoughts.  Awaken  the  thought,  and  the  child  will  com- 
mand the  instruments. 

A  word  properly  presented  to  a  child  is  a  picture.  He 
adds  it  to  his  thought-stuff  as  he  puts  a  dress  on  his  doll 
or  a  spoon  in  his  cup.  Visit  an  art  gallery.  Which  pic- 
tures will  you  remember  after  a  few  days?  Only  those 
which  have  brought  to  your  mind  some  personal  experience, 
which  reflected  your  own  emotional  life,  which  you  under- 
stood because  of  some  vital  association.  Words  should  be 
presented  as  pictures  of  thought  which  have  a  personal 
meaning,  and  not  as  elements  or  combinations  of  sounds. 

Let  the  reading  lessons  of  the  primary  grade  take  on  a 
story  quality,  that  they  may  profit  from  the  energizing  effect 
of  interest  and  enthusiasm.  Repetition  is  necessary  to  en- 
force a  needed  bit  of  information,  but  repetition  with  variety 
may  be  had  if  true  literature  is  studied,  and  the  qualities 
which  have  made  it  the  mouthpiece  of  the  race  are  inserted 
into  the  reading  lesson.  Compare  the  language  of  "  Mother 
Goose  "  with  that  of  the  average  primer.  Study  the  kind 
of  repetition  which  "Mother  Goose  "  contains.  It  grows  out 
of  and  is  a  part  of  the  story,  while  in  the  primer  repeti- 
tion is  an  arbitrary  thing,  set  in  for  the  obtrusive  purpose 
of  enforcing  some  word.  Let  the  qualities  which  enter  into 
game  life  —  expectancy,  repetition,  imitation,  action,  and 
joy  —  find  their  place  in  the  reading  lesson  of  the  primary 


BEADING  201 

school.  These  human,  efflorescent,  dramatic  qualities  char- 
acteristic of  child  life  may  be  crystallized  into  reading 
material  by  a  quick,  effective  use  of  the  blackboard,  and 
in  the  reading  books  of  the  child's  own  making. 

There  is  not  enough  reading  to  children  in  the  primary 
years.  A  child  should  be  read  to  every  day  without  being 
expected  to  make  any  return.  Spoken  language  is  acquired 
by  such  means.  One  is  willing  to  talk  and  talk  to  a  child, 
long  before  he  is  able  to  answer  with  a  spoken  word ;  the 
child  understands,  although  he  says  nothing  himself;  he 
is  collecting  the  material  of  speech,  storing  it  somewhere, 
and  sometime  he  will  suddenly  surprise  you  with  his  accu- 
mulated possessions.  Reading  has  this  nascent  period  too, 
and  a  child  should  have  the  opportunity  to  follow  with  his 
own  book  in  hand  a  good  reading  of  familiar  stories  again 
and  again,  that  the  printed  symbol,  and  its  oral  expression, 
may  be  unconsciously  identified.  By  such  a  method  a  child 
gets  technique,  and  the  thought  expressed  by  it,  without 
too  much  conscious  focusing  upon  the  technique  itself.  He 
will  become  accustomed  to  read  as  rhythmically  as  he  talks, 
without  stilted  and  forced  inflection.  Six  or  eight  minutes 
given  to  this  practice  each  day  will  increase  the  desire  to 
read,  give  conscious  models  for  imitation,  and  train  the 
class  in  attention. 

Reading  should  lead  to  imagery,  association,  feeling, 
and  motor  response.  Does  the  average  reading  book  excite 
such  responses,  or  does  it  deal  with  commonplaces  which 
are  merely  rolled  about  on  the  tongue  ? 

The  reading  lessons  are  apt  to  go  ahead  of  the  child's 
power,  —  we  are  so  impatient  of  progress,  so  jealous  of 
time.  We  lay  too  much  stress  upon  the  number  of  pages 
covered,  too  little  upon  the  desire  awakened  and  the  taste 
acquired. 


202   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

Children  should  be  allowed  time  at  least  once  a  week 
for  undirected  reading,  —  save  as  to  a  suggestion  of  what 
to  read,  —  time  to  read  with  no  thought  of  reproduction 
other  than  a  voluntary  one ;  they  should  have  time  to  read 
for  mere  delight,  to  form  a  reading  habit,  and  to  establish 
reading  tastes. 

Reading  is  thinking  by  means  of  the  printed  page,  not 
the  teclinical  mastery  of  words.  Little  children  are  in  the 
language-building  period,  and  if  the  proper  transition  is 
made,  will  quickly  learn  the  language  of  the  printed  page 
as  well  as  of  the  spoken  word.  Then:  interests  are  so  varied 
and  their  curiosity  so  keen  that  one  cannot  set  the  limits 
to  what  they  may  acquire.  The  secret  of  success  is  to 
keep  the  work  childlike,  full  of  action,  and  vitally  related 
to  the  daily  interests  and  habits.  Children  are  accumula- 
ting, putting  together,  labeling,  classifying,  and  selecting 
in  a  wholesale  sort  of  way.  They  are  open  to  suggestion 
along  a  thousand  different  lines,  but  ready  for  prescription 
in  none. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HANDWRITING 

I.  Writing  in  the  race.  Handwriting  is  one  of  the  latest 
and  highest  achievements  of  man.  Geiger  calls  it  "the 
most  marvelous  art  which  it  was  at  all  possible  for  man 
to  create."  Like  all  great  things,  it  is  the  result  of  a  long, 
gradual  development. 

The  beginnings  of  the  art  were  rude  and  desultory  scrawls 
such  as  even  eolithic  man  must  have  produced  in  his  idle 
moments,  prompted  by  the  old  instinct  of  workmanship. 
The  rudiments  of  handwriting  in  the  child  are  found  in 
playful  scribbling  similar  in  origin  and  character.  The  hand 
is  a  most  natural  means  of  expression  as  well  as  of  con- 
struction. The  facial  and  laryngeal  muscles  scarcely  exceed 
it  in  mobility  and  sensitiveness  to  mental  states.  Just  as 
the  dog's  tail,  not  being  burdened  with  the  task  of  locomo- 
tion, became  an  animated  semaphore,  with  a  considerable 
code  of  language  wags,  so  the  hand  of  primitive  man  be- 
came the  vehicle  of  communication.  The  hand  is  anatomi- 
cally so  superior  to  the  canine  tail  that  it  lends  itself  to 
a  high  development  of  sign  language.  The  gestures  of  prim- 
itive man  at  first  surpassed  speech  in  efficiency.  Living 
primitive  people  show  marvelous  power  in  hand  talk.  To 
this  day  the  Indians  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  with  their 
scores  of  dialects,  cannot  understand  each  other  by  word 
of  mouth,  but  they  meet  on  the  ground  of  a  universal  ges- 
ture language.  By  this  Esperanto  of  the  hand  they  can 
trade,  negotiate,  and  even  tell  each  other  love  stories. 


204   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

There  are  innumerable  nerve  filaments  which  bind  the 
fingers  to  the  brain  cortex.  With  the  development  of  mental 
imagery  and  mental  coordination,  pictures  emerge  out  of 
the  rude,  aimless  scrawls,  somewhat  as  articulate  speech 
arises  out  of  babbling  and  cooing.  Picture  writing  is  really 
a  form  of  gesture,  —  graphic  pantomime.  "  On  bark  and 
wood  and  stone,  on  skulls  and  skins  and  bones  and  teeth,  on. 
surfaces  formed  of  various  fibers,  and  with  some  tribes  on  the 
human  body  in  tattooing,  the  pictures  were  made  according 
to  the  exigency  of  the  case  or  the  whim  of  the  artist." 

The  pictographs  were,  of  course,  very  rude,  concrete, 
and  unconventional.  It  took  hours  to  tell  a  simple  story 
which  we  now  could  write  out  in  as  many  minutes,  but  in 
these  same  rude  pictographs,  as  Huey  says,  "  lay  the  germs 
of  the  alphabets  which  made  civilization  possible."  In  some 
cases  the  historian  has  actually  traced  out  the  pedigree. 
Our  letter  M,  for  example,  passed  through  seven  distin- 
guishable metamorphoses,  starting  with  an  Egyptian  hiero- 
glyphic owl.  It  surely  is  interesting  to  reflect  upon  the 
immense  gap  between  the  laborious,  slow-witted  etchings 
of  the  cave  man  and  the  modern  lightning  stenographs 
which  are  dashed  off  at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  words  per 
minute ;  but  it  would  be  wrong  to  think  that  there  is  no 
genetic  relationship  between  pictography  and  penmanship. 

II.  Motion-picture  writing.  The  pedagogy  of  penmanship 
must  recognize  the  genetic  background  of  handwriting. 
Primitive  man  wrote  pictorially  before  he  wrote  alphabet- 
ically, and  so  should  the  child.  Even  Pestalozzi  appreciated 
that  there  is  some  pedagogical  connection  between  elemen- 
tary drawing  and  writing.  To  the  primary-school  child  hand- 
writing is  about  as  foreign  and  impossible  as  it  is  to  a  patient 
suffering  from  the  brain  troubles  known  as  agraphia  and 
alexia.  The  highly  complex  and  conventional  symbols  of 


HANDWRITING  205 

the  copy  book  are  as  foreign  to  his  experience  as  Sanskrit    • 
is  to  most  of  us.    If  we  want  to  draw  out  his  powers  of 
hand-expression,  we  must  make  connection  with  his  own 
stock  of  concrete,  mental  images. 

And  the  beauty  of  it  is  he  has  just  those  visual-motor 
images  of  motion  which  are  pictorial  in  import  but  contain 
the  basal  elements  of  handwriting.  These  mental  motion 
pictures  which  he  so  easily  and  joyfully  transfers  to  the 
blackboard  make  a  splendid  transition  from  drawing  to  pen- 
manship. The  crude  sketches  of  men,  animals,  houses,  etc.  of 
course  come  first  of  all.  Through  these  drawings  the  child 
develops  his  powers  of  coordination  and  perception,  but  he 
will  represent  moving  things  as  naturally  as  stable  ones, 
just  as  primitive  man  in  pantomime,  dance,  and  pictograph 
represented  the  rocking  of  the  waves,  the  heaving  of  nets,  or 
the  flight  of  birds.  Such  dynamic,  pictorial  representations 
will  resemble  writing  as  much  as  drawing,  because  they  will 
have  the  progression  and  continuity  of  fluent  script. 

If  children  are  too  suddenly  and  arbitrarily  introduced 
to  letter  forms,  expression  is  stilted  and  crippled.  If  we 
start  with  the  copy  book,  the  child  has  neither  motor  images 
that  command  nor  coordinated  muscles  which  execute. 
The  use  of  pictorial  or  representative  writing  in  the  early 
stages  is  effective  because  its  starting  point  is  familiar 
motor  images  related  in  the  child's  mind  to  pleasant  reac- 
tions. In  language  making  the  child  imitates  tone,  inflec- 
tion, and  rhythm  of  speech  before  he  masters  words ;  so  in 
writing  there  is  a  play  period  working  toward  muscular 
control  which  expresses  itself  in  bold,  flowing,  pictorial 
representation  of  rhythmical  sound  and  movement.  Chil- 
dren will  only  write  easily  when  the  mind  is  filled  with 
easy,  continuous  motor  images  which  are  so  compelling 
that  they  coax  the  muscles  into  involuntary  play. 


206   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMARY  SCHOOL 


Their  first  writing  should  represent  ideas,  just  as  the 
primitive  pictographs  did.  Children  are,  like  primitive  man, 
in  a  naive,  creative,  responsive,  artistic,  representative  mood, 
and  if  encouraged  will  represent  motion  in  lively,  flowing 
lines  upon  the  blackboard.  Their  minds  are  full  of  innumer- 
able motor  images  which  they  have  met  with  peculiar  delight 
in  their  kinship  with  nature.  They  love  to  watch  the  trees 
bend  in  the  wind,  for  the  delight  in  the  regular  recurrence  of 
action  and  sound  is  instinctive.  They  feel  the  poetry  of  mo- 
tion, and  easily  and  spontaneously  portray  it ;  for  instance, 
in  such  an  exercise  as  the  following: 

How  do  you  like  to  go  up  in  a  swing, 

Up  in  the  air  so  blue  ? 
Oh,  I  do  think  it  the  pleasantest  thing 

Ever  a  child  can  do  ! 

Up  in  the  air  and  over  the  wall, 

Till  I  can  see  so  wide, 
Rivers  and  trees  and  cattle  and  all, 

Over  the  countryside ; 

Till  I  look  down  on  the  garden  green, 

Down  on  the  roof  so  brown  — 
Up  in  the  air  I  go  flying  again, 

Up  in  the  air  and  down. 

In  this  motion-picture  writing  the  children  are  living 
over  again  the  psychomotor  joy  of  swinging.  They  let 
themselves  go  as  it  were,  while  they  draw  these  lines,  and 


FIG.  36.   GOING  UP 
IN  A  SWING 


FIG.  37.   ROLLING  HOOP 


may  even  say,  as  one  little  fellow  did,  "I  touched  the  top 
of  the  branch  with  my  toe  !  " 

Rolling  a  hoop   is  another  childish   sport  which   may 
be  used  for  this  pictorial  work.    Children  do  not  care  to 


HAND  WETTING 


207 


make   ovals,  but  how  they  love  to  roll  a  hoop  lightly, 
evenly,  smoothly  down  the  board.   If  they  press  too  heavily 


FIG.  38.   JUMPING  ROPE 

upon  the  chalk,  the  hoop  will  upset;  if  the  motion  is 
not  continuous,  flowing,  even,  the  hoop  will  cease  to  roll. 

The  same  exercise,  or  the  reverse,  may  represent  jumping 
rope,  and  the  accent  or  rhythm  may  be 
made  to  fall  upon  the  lower  line,  as  if  the 
rope  quickly  struck  the  ground  in  succes- 
sive swoops. 

Among  many  other  rhythms  and  mo- 
tions which  may  be  pictorially  represented 
are  the  swinging  of  the  pendulum,  the 
beating  of  the  drum,  and  the  marching 
of  soldiers  down  the  street.  The  sky- 
rocket may  be  represented  with  a  vigor- 
ous oblique  stroke  made  to  the  sound  of 
sh-sh-sh  !  The  cadenced  humming  of  bees 
is  naturally  represented  by  rhythmic  con- 
tinuous lines. 

The  type  of  pictorial  writing  here  rec- 
ommended is  not  to  be  confused  with  the  construction 
of  spectacles,  vases,  etc.  out  of  combinations  of  ovals  and 
curves.  Though  such  exercises  may  have  some  value,  they 


FIG.  39.   SWINGING 
PENDULUM 


//      /// 


/ft          //     /ff       /r 

FIG.  40.   BEATING  DRUM 


portray  still  life,  and  do  not  develop  that  feeling  of  rhyth- 
mic movement  which  is  the  soul  of  true  motion  pictures. 
They  are  not  dynamic. 


208   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 


Judd  has  made  a  psychological  analysis  of  the  writing 
process  which  seems  to  bear  out  some  of  the  points  in  the 
suggestions  so  far  made.  "  Writing,"  he  says,  "  has  to  be 


FIG.  41.   MARCHING  SOLDIERS 

developed  by  trial  after  trial;  that  is,  by  tentative  effort 
until  the  proper  movements  have  been  hit  upon  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  times  to  establish  them  without  conscious 
selection,  with  consciousness  directed  not  upon  the  move- 
ment itself  but  upon  the  visual 
images  which  appear  as  results 
of  the  movements.  There  is  no 
conscious  selection  of  the  hand  movement. 
Various  factors  are  gradually  added  to 
'each  other  by  a  process  of  organic  fusion." 
For  a  half  year,  and  perhaps  ideally  for 
a  whole  year,  the  child  should  be  kept  at 
this  bold,  motion-picture  writing,  the  im- 
patient anxiety  of  A-.B-<7-minded  parents 
notwithstanding.  This  dynamic  drawing 
can  be  filled  with  much  joy,  even  beauty,  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  in  its  performance  the  child  is  laying  the 
foundation  of  the  pyramid  of  habits  called  handwriting. 


FIG.  42. 
SKYROCKET 


FIG.  43.   BEES  HUMMING 

III.  The  rhythmic  writing  mood.  In  Volume  II,  the  fif- 
teenth lecture  of  his  work  on  "Experimental  Pedagogy,"  Dr. 
Ernst  Meumann  makes  an  interesting  analysis  of  the  writ- 
ing process.  By  means  of  a  delicate  pneumatic  apparatus 
and  a  revolving  smoked  drum,  he  secured  records  of  the 


HANDWRITING  209 

variation  in  rapidity  and  pressure  of  the  handwriting  of 
children  and  adults.  He  found  that  six-  and  seven-year-old 
children  never  exert  a  rhythmical  pressure  within  a  word ; 
that  is,  a  maximum  showing  itself  in  a  wave  crest  at  the 
beginning,  middle,  or 
end  of  "  the  pressure 
curve,"  as  indicated  in 
the  accompanying  dia- 
grams. The  beginner 

always     exerts     equal     *IG.  44.    PRESSURE  AND  SPEED  CURVE  FOR 

LETTER  /'  (ADULT) 
uniform  pressure  for 

every  letter,  or  at  first  for  every  stroke.  Meumann  found 
that  adults  likewise  show  a  temporal  rhythm,  —  that  is, 
rhythmic  slowing  and  acceleration,  —  while  children  tend 
to  write  their  words  with  uniform  speed.  Children  also 
exert  a  greater  absolute  pressure.  Figs.  44  and  45  are 
the  pressure  and  speed  curves  of  an  adult  and  a  child 
writing  the  letter  i.  The  lower  lines  in  each  figure  are 
the  time  record,  the  notches  in  that  of  Fig.  44  being  the 
marks  of  a  metronome  beating  sixty  times  per  second. 
Note  in  the  boy's  writing  the  slowness,  the  uniform  pres- 
sure, and  the  three  separate  impulses,  one  for  each  stroke. 


FIG.  45.    PRESSURE  AND  SPEED  CURVE  FOR  LETTER  /  (SEVEN- 
YEAR-OLD  BOY) 

On  these  data  Meumann  concludes  that  the  development 
of  handwriting  in  children  consists  chiefly  in  that,  first,  it 
becomes  more  rapid ;  second,  that  the  separate  impulses 
fuse  into  one  total  impulse  with  a  rhythmical  subordination 
of  individual  pressures  to  one  chief  pressure,  till  the  inner- 
vations  of  a  word  result  in  a  unitary  act  in  which  the  whole 


210   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PKIMAEY  SCHOOL 

word  is  executed  with  one  stroke  of  the  will.  He  also  thinks 
that  the  individual  letters  should  be  mastered  thoroughly 
before  proceeding  to  the  writing  of  words. 

This  analysis,  instructive  as  it  is,  betrays  one  of  the  chief 
limitations  of  experimental  pedagogy.  The  technical  meth- 
ods of  laboratory  analysis  must  often  fail  in  evaluating 
the  factor  of  mood  and  attitude  in  the  learning  activity  of 
children.  Our  experience  in  the  classroom  has  proved,  first, 
that  the  six-  or  seven-year-old  child  does  not  need  to  exert 
undue  pressure  in  his  writing ;  second,  that  he  need  not  write 
unrhythmically  either  in  pressure  or  time ;  third,  that  he 
does  not  have  to  write  in  a  piecemeal  manner  with  numer- 
ous separate  impulses ;  fourth,  that  words  should  not  wait 
for  the  mastery  of  individual  letters.  From  the  very  start 
the  beginner's  penmanship  may  possess  the  adult  qualities 
of  fluency,  accent,  and  individuality,  if  it  will  only  spring 
from  familar  imagery  and  the  rhythmic  mood.  Meumann's 
analysis  indicates  not  so  much  the  natural  and  necessary 
development  of  children's  writing  as  the  baneful  results  of 
poor  methods  of  teaching. 

Surely  it  is  not  natural  for  a  child  to  draw  in  a  patchy, 
piecemeal  fashion.  Watch  him  at  his  drawing  and  see  with 
what  fine  daring  and  abandon  he  makes  his  lines.  Put  a 
pencil  in  his  hands  and  ask  him  to  write,  and  he  glides  it 
across  the  paper  with  a  continuous  and  often  graceful  mo- 
tion. A  circle  of  kindergarten  children  were  asked  to  write 
a  letter,  and  only  two  of  them  made  circumscribed  scrawls ; 
the  remaining  eleven  went  bravely  and  flowingly  across  the 
page  after  the  manner  of  the  accompanying  cut  (Fig.  46). 

This  natural,  continuous  movement  should  be  culti- 
vated, not  combated.  The  very  purity  of  motion  which 
is  the  ultimate  end  of  writing,  and  which  the  child  brings 
to  school,  is  broken  up  by  jerky,  painful  movements  in 


HANDWRITING 


211 


premature  striving  at  technical  control.  This  results  in  the 
absurd  draftsmanship  in  which  even  such  a  decided  unit 
as  0  is  built  up  by  installments.  An  examination  of  the 


FIG.  46.    KINDERGARTEN  SCRAWL 


specimen  in  Fig.  47  will  show  how  almost  every  letter  is 
the  result  of  two  or  more  independent  strokes.  Writing  is 
motion  directed  by  thought,  and  should  be  a  fluid  accom- 
paniment of  thought.  The  specimen  in  Fig.  48,  taken  from 


1U,  [WO, 


mil  y\ot. 


FIG.  47.   LEGIBLE  BUT  PIECEMEAL  WRITING 

a  boy's  essay  on  mud,  is  not  to  be  commended  for  legi- 
bility, but  it  at  least  has  the  merit  of  fluency,  so  conspicu- 
ously absent  in  the  other  specimen.  A  good  method  of 
teaching  will  secure  both  merits. 


212   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMAEY  SCHOOL 

Meumann  has  said  :  "  While  the  adult  writes  the  whole 
word  with  one  will  impulse,  the  child,  has  to  make  a  num- 
ber of  separate  efforts,  —  as  many  as  there  are  letters  or 
separate  strokes.  The  child  writes  with  individual  im- 
pulses, the  adult  with  merged  impulses  (  Gresamtimpulseri)" 
May  this  not  be  due  to  the  fact  that  the  early  writing  of 
children  is  usually  a  dull,  tiresome,  commonplace  effort  to 
reproduce  arbitrary  forms  ?  Monotony  will  destroy  the  clev- 
erest bit  of  oral  language,  and  so  it  will  inhibit  writing; 
for  writing  is  the  transmission  of  thought,  and  must  take 
on  its  rhythm.  Separate,  unrelated  words  awaken  no  im- 
pulses which  call  for  unitary  motion  or  decisive  strokes. 

/}^^ 


FIG.  48.    ILLEGIBLE  BUT  FLUENT  WRITING 

The  adult  writing  movements  follow  thoughts  and  ideas, 
and  naturally  express  accent  and  rhythm.  Emotion  pro- 
duces a  corresponding  movement,  and  the  fault  in  the 
writing  of  little  children  is  that  all  emotion  is  lacking.  The 
writing  is  simply  muscular  gymnastics,  without  impelling 
mood  or  idea  to  give  it  fluidity  or  grace.  Motion-picture 
writing,  enlivened  with  rime  or  song,  supplies  the  defi- 
ciency, and  trains  the  muscles  to  execute  the  needed  form 
of  writing  in  company  with  feeling,  the  rhythmic  mood. 

This  attitude  of  rhythm  is  so  invaluable  in  writing  that  it 
is  worth  special  cultivation.  The  rimes  of  "  Mother  Goose," 
from  the  trotting  movement  of  "  Hey  diddle  diddle  "  to 
the  slow  measure  of  "  Fe,  fi,  fo,  fum,"  furnish  excellent 
material  for  concerted  rhythmical  expression  at  the  black-. 
board.  These  rimes  represent  a  variety  of  recurring  ac- 
cents which  bring  into  play  a  corresponding  variety  of 


HANDWRITING  213 

muscular  contractions  in  a  natural,  controlled  way,  —  "  Hey 
diddle "  expressed  by  short  staccato  strokes  like  //  //  ///\ 
"  Fe,  fi,  fo,  fum,"  by  longer  strokes  like  -  —.A 

combination  of  these  strokes  may  be  used  in  "  Three  Blind 

/  /  / 

Mice  "  ;  as,  Three  blind  mice,  They  all  ran  after  the  farmer's 

/•  /  /  /  / 

wife,  Who  cut  off  their  tails  with  a  carving  knife.  Three 

blind  mice.  The  long  strokes  may  also  be  made  vertically, 
and  the  short  horizontally,  and  there  are  endless  other 
variations.  Unaccompanied  by  mood  and  motive,  these  fun- 
damental strokes,  which  are  at  the  basis  of  writing  skill, 
are  impossible  in  children.  On  perfunctory  prescription 
the  simplest  lines  will  be  hesitant  and  tremulous. 

In  presenting  these  exercises  the  teacher  should  merely 
establish  the  desired  rhythm,  set  it  going,  and  then,  lower- 
ing her  voice,  gradually  withdraw  her  guidance  altogether. 
The  pulse  or  rhythmical  measure  started  seems  to  incor- 
porate itself  into  the  sensitive  neuromuscular  make-up  of 
the  little  children,  and  they  continue  to  hum  or  sing  softly, 
and  write  in  flowing,  cadenced  lines  until  a  new  measure 
is  suggested. 

Rhythm  is  the  best  friend  of  motor  activity.  It  lightens 
all  labor,  makes  for  pleasure,  grace,  and  poise  of  movement, 
and  postpones  fatigue.  The  workingmen  of  to-day,  like 
their  primitive  ancestors,  make  rhythm  an  ally  in  physical 
toil.  Melodic  intervals  possess  in  a  high  degree  the  power 
to  stimulate  energy.  Experiments  in  the  laboratory  have 
shown  this  to  be  true  in  the  case  of  the  ergograph.  This  is 
an  instrument  in  which  the  subject  successively  depresses 
a  weight  with  one  of  his  fingers  to  test  his  physical  en- 
durance. Rhythmical  grouping  of  the  finger  movements 
improves  the  record.  Meumann  found  in  his  own  tests 
that  under  the  impulse  of  the  rhythmical  beating  of  the 


214   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

metronome  the  handwriting  of  children,  though  it  may 
suffer  somewhat  in  accuracy,  becomes  faster,  more  facile 
and  fluent.  The  Romance  peoples  —  Latins,  Spaniards, 
Mexicans,  and  Italians  —  are  proverbially  good  writers. 
May  this  not  be  that,  because  of  racial  temperament,  they 
fall  more  easily  into  the  rhythmical  mood  which  gives 
beauty  and  grace  to  all  movement? 

Dr.  E.  W.  Scripture,  who  has  made  a  scientific  study 
of  speech  defects,  finds  that  the  laryngeal  cramp  may  be 
broken  up  by  the  melody  cure.  In  his  speech  clinic,  where 
only  a  few  minutes  can  be  given  to  each  stutterer,  he 
relies  chiefly  on  this  melody  cure.  The  element  of  rhythm 
in  this  cure  undoubtedly  has  something  to  do  with  break- 
ing the  cramped  stiffness  and  restoring  flexibility.  Dr. 
Scripture  reports  an  instructive  case  of  stuttering  in  pen- 
manship :  "  A  Mr.  H.  has  taken  courses  in  writing,  but 
had  suffered  so  much  on  account  of  his  penmanship  that 
a  nervous  fear  seized  him  the  moment  he  took  up  a  pen. 
Before  beginning  to  write  he  would  make  a  number  of 
nervous  strokes  with  the  pen  without  touching  the  paper. 
His  writing  grows  steadily  more  cramped  and  tremulous 
as  he  approaches  the  end  of  a  word"  (see  Fig.  49).  Though 
this  is  an  extreme  and  rare  case,  milder  degrees  of  this 
embarrassed  penmanship  are  plentifully  produced  by  those 
methods  of  teaching  which  are  stilted  and  atactic  in  their 
very  spirit,  instead  of  partaking  of  the  child's  joyous  love 
of  motion. 

While  the  children  are  at  the  blackboard  enjoying  their 
rhythmic  motion  pictures  they  are  standing  erect,  with  the 
chest  up  and  their  lungs  full  of  air ;  the  circulation  is  un- 
impeded; muscular  control  and  a  harmonious  use  of  the 
whole  body  follow  of  themselves.  The  symmetrical  posture 
and  well-balanced  neuromuscular  tonicity  favor  the  use  of 


HANDWRITING  215 

the  left  hand  as  well  as  of  the  right.  In  the  midst  of  the 
exercises  the  children  can  be  made  to  exchange  their  chalk 
from  one  hand  to  the  other  for  a  moment  or  two,  not  with 
a  view  of  cultivating  ambidexterity,  but  to  get  the  ad- 
vantages of  cross-education  and  to  increase  the  rhythmical 
mood  so  essential  to  perfect  writing. 

Such  free  blackboard  exercises,  because  they  are  fluid, 
childlike,  and  rhythmical,  eliminate  all  muscular  tension. 
It  becomes  a  game  to  hold  the  chalk  so  lightly  that  if  the 


<r*7 


FIG.  49.    STUTTERING  PENMANSHIP 


teacher  slips  up  behind  a  child  she  can  pull  it  from  his  hand 
.without  effort.  To  encourage  lightness  of  touch  an  exer- 
cise like  the  following  is  most  useful  :  "  Make  soap  bubbles, 
make  them  lightly;  there,  yours  will  break.  Barely  let 
them  touch,  —  softly!  "  The  children  will  make  a  number  of 
them  quickly,  lightly,  without  any  cramping  of  the  muscles 
if  the  teacher  makes  them  feel  the  ethereal  fragility  of  the 
bubble.  Thus  even  the  excess  of  intensity,  which  is  supposed 
to  be  the  natural  accompaniment  of  the  learning  process,  can 
be  much  reduced  if  only  the  proper  attitude  is  developed. 


216   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

For  children  work  by  mood,  and  this  principle  is  the 
success  of  all  teaching,  especially  of  the  teaching  of  pri- 
mary-school writing.  Emotions  tend  to  produce  movement ; 
conversely,  if  handwriting  lacks  emotion,  movement  will 
become  cramped,  perfunctory,  and  lifeless.  The  rhythmic 
mood  is  the  very  joy  of  motion,  and  holds  all  the  cardinal 
traits  of  handwriting,  —  facility,  fluency,  grace,  and  speed. 

IV.  Word-picture  writing.  Motion-picture  writing  has  so 
much  dramatic  play-joy  for  children,  and  so  much  true 
gymnastic  value  in  developing  posture  and  body  control, 
that  it  might  well  be  used  for  its  intrinsic  educational  and 
recreational  worth.  We  are,  however,  recommending  it  as 
a  preparation  to  the  acquisition  of  handwriting,  and  an 
accompaniment  of  it.  But  how,  it  will  be  asked,  if  children 
are  to  be  kept  so  long  at  this  flowing  blackboard  work,  will 
they  ever  learn  to  write  letters  and  words  ?  The  transition 
is  made  very  easily,  almost  unconsciously.  To  begin  with, 
the  motion-pictures  themselves  contain  the  fundamental 
strokes  of  handwriting,  and  their  systematic,  lively  repeti- 
tion will  so  automatize  these  strokes  that  the  technicalities 
of  the  alphabet  will  be  much  reduced  in  difficulty.  More- 
over, the  making  of  lines  and  curves  to  the  saying  and 
singing  of  "Mother  Goose"  is,  after  all,  a  very  real  kind  of 
writing.  The  essential  thing  in  the  rimes  is  their  rhythm, 
and  this  the  child  really  expresses  in  his  broadly  symbolic 
lines.  Besides,  the  child  does  it  all  in  a  spirit  of  playful 
self-illusion,  and  thinks  that  he  actually  is  writing  the 
rime  ;  and  after  he  writes  it  he  reads  it  back  to  himself. 
Early  picture  writing  represented  ideas  in  a  few  bold 
strokes,  and  so  does  this  disingenuous  rime-and-motion- 
picture  writing. 

Then  some  of  the  pictures  are  really  letters.  The  hoops 
are  o's,  the  swinging  rope  contains  e's  and  w's,  and  the 


HANDWRITING  217 

humming  of  the  bees  incorporates  n.  In  time  the  exercises 
can  be  varied  to  incorporate  other  letters,  or  even  combina- 
tions of  them ;  but  these  letters  are  always  to  be  made  in 
a  flowing,  easy  fashion,  in  the  natural  relation  of  forward, 
fluent  movement,  unhampered  by  the  crippling  conscious- 
ness of  form.  The  painstaking,  arbitrary  drawing  of  a,  5,  c,  d 
is  unchildlike,  self-conscious,  and  irksome,  —  defeating  its 
own  purpose  by  creating  a  distaste  for  writing,  setting  a 
habit  of  slow,  characterless  script,  and  dissociating  writing 
from  all  ideas.  Writing  in  the  minds  of  most  children  is 
an  unwelcome  task,  and  has  no  relation  to  record  making 
and  communication,  which  is  its  excuse  for  being. 

It  is  no  longer  considered  pedagogical  to  dissociate  pri- 
mary reading  from  feeling  and  a  desire  to  communicate  and 
understand.  We  wish  to  call  attention  to  the  identity  of 
principles  underlying  the  acquisition  of  reading  and  writing. 
Both  functions  may  be  lifeless,  stilted,  and  monotonous,  or 
may  be  the  opposite.  Both  may  be  painfully  self-conscious, 
discrete,  analytic,  and  hypertechnical,  and  both  benefit  by  the 
whole  method  as  opposed  to  the  part  method  of  teaching. 

It  has  been  proved  experimentally  that  children  can  per- 
ceive —  that  is,  recognize  and  name  —  words  about  as  read- 
ily as  single  letters,  and  the  same  is  true  in  a  measure  of 
sentences.  The  word  is  a  natural,  vital  unit.  Its  visual  ap- 
pearance, indeed,  is  not  a  sum  of  letter  appearances,  but 
has  a  character  of  its  own.  Children  are  very  susceptible 
to  the  individuality  of  words,  and  though  it  may  be  logi- 
cal to  split  the  word  into  its  alphabetical  elements,  it  is 
not  psychological.  The  old  writing  masters  used  to  begin 
their  writing  lessons  with  monotonous  drill  on  artificial 
units  like  hooks  and  loops,  thinking  that  the  logical  pro- 
cedure in  penmanship.  This  method  is  really  as  absurdly 
unpedagogical  as  the  A-B-C  method  of  teaching  reading. 


218   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

Prolonged  practice  on  isolated  a,  6,  <?,  d,  before  attacking 
words,  has  no  more  place  in  writing  than  in  reading.  Chil- 
dren should  be  encouraged  to  do  what  is  so  natural  and 

o  » 

possible  for  them,  —  namely,  to  take  in  the  whole  word,  and 
to  write  the  whole  word,  as  they  draw  a  whole  picture.  They 
will  grow  tremendously  in  this  power  to  picture  whole 
words,  —  which,  by  the  way,  will  greatly  improve  their  spell- 
ing, for  spelling  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  ability  to 
write  correctly. 

Orthography  means  literally  "straight  writing."  This 
correct  writing  of  words  should  be  natural,  and  should  be 
brought  about  by  positive,  not  negative,  impressions.  There 
is  no  place  in  the  early  school  work  for  arbitrary  lists  of 
isolated  words  to  be  spelled.  A  definite  content  or  sentence 
relationship  should  be  associated  with  the  visual  image 
of  every  word  studied.  Children  should  be  encouraged  to 
look  again  and  again  at  the  correctly  written  word,  until 
the  image  of  it  becomes  indelibly  fixed.  The  trial-and-error 
method  frequently  resorted  to  brings  about  inhibition  and 
mistaken  images,  which  often  persist  for  a  lifetime.  Do  not 
allow  a  child  to  write  a  word  incorrectly,  for  the  corrected 
papers  which  are  returned  to  him  only  fill  his  mind  with 
distorted  images  and  false  impressions. 

Have  the  children  look  attentively  as  the  word  is  written 
on  the  board,  perhaps  erased  two  or  three  times.  Then  let 
the  class  write  the  word  quickly  and  with  decision.  Such 
exercises  will  reduce  the  number  of  individual  impulses, 
and  make  unnecessary  the  mastery  of  separate  letters  before 
proceeding  to  words.  After  a  while  the  children  will  not  only 
picture  words  but  also  sentences,  and  write  the  sentences 
as  easily  as  the  word. 

We  have  eliminated  the  letter  consciousness  in  reading, 
and  should  apply  a  like  pedagogy  to  writing.  Writing  is 


HANDWRITING  219 

picture  making,  and  the  letters  of  a  word  maintain  a  definite 
relation  one  to  another,  just  as  the  lines  of  a  drawing.  It  is 
the  relations,  combinations,  and  fusing  of  the  letters  which 
give  individuality  to  words.  It  is  not  the  letter  conscious- 
ness, but  the  word  consciousness,  that  should  be  aimed  at. 


FIG.  50.    KINDERGARTEN  COPIES  OF  2,  7,  AND  6 

A  perfect  word  picture,  it  must  be  admitted,  does  not 
always  secure  corresponding  results  in  writing.  The  model 
and  the  visual  image  must  be  properly  associated  with 
motor  impulses  before  the  copy  will  be  accurate.  A  group 
of  kindergarten  children  were  asked  to  copy  a  large  6 
and  7  displayed  before  them.  The  figure  above  shows  some 
of  the  more  interesting  errors  resulting  from  the  test.  These 


FIG.  51.   INVERSION  SCRIPT  ("On,  SEE  THE  KITTY") 

errors  are  due  not  to  perception,  nor  to  a  lack  of  muscular 
ability,  but  to  an  absence  of  coordination,  point  for  point, 
between  the  visual  and  motor  factors.  This  lack  of  visual- 
motor  coordination  accounts  for  the  strange  inversions 
which  so  often  appear  in  the  writing  of  primary -school 
children,  such  as  are  shown  in  the  writing  in  Fig.  51.  The 
piecemeal  analysis  of  words  and  letters  may  also  contribute 


220   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PEIMARY  SCHOOL 

to  the  dislocation  of  parts.  In  one  primary-school  room 
which  was  visited  it  seemed  that  the  majority  of  the  children 
lapsed  into  writing  inversion. 

How  may  these  inversions  be  avoided  ?  By  making  the 
whole  word  a  motion  picture.  Let  the  children  see  not 
only  the  static,  dead  model  but  the  dynamic  unfoldment 
of  the  model,  —  the  word.  Let  them  see  and  imitate  the 
movement  as  well  as  the  result  of  the  movement.  In  brief, 
let  them  see  the  teacher  writing  the  word,  so  that  they  will 
have  a  word-motion-picture. 

There  is  another  feature  of  good  writing,  which  depends 
upon  proper  imagery  rather  than  upon  prescription  and 
scolding ;  that  is,  writing  in  a  straight  line.  Even  beginners 
do  not  need  lines  for  their  guidance.  Show  them  how  to 
place  a  dot  where  they  begin  to  write,  another  where  they 
should  end  the  sentence,  another  in  the  middle  for  those 
who  are  most  inclined  to  write  uphill.  The  children  will 
then  soon  begin  to  think  straight  lines  and  have  mental  line 
pictures,  and  will  correct  their  own  mistakes.  Go  about 
with  a  ruler  occasionally  and  place  it  under  the  sentences 
written,  so  that  the  child  may  see  his  error.  Lay  the  ruler 
also  on  the  top  where  the  tall  letters  should  reach,  and  so 
awaken  a  healthy  self-criticism. 

Another  minor  problem  is  the  transition  from  blackboard 
to  paper.  When  the  time  comes  to  make  use  of  the  pen- 
cil, the  children  should  be  given  large  sheets  of  wrap- 
ping paper  and  be  'encouraged  to  use  the  same  large, 
flowing  script.  It  has  been  found  practicable  to  have  the 
children  fold  the  paper,  gradually  making  it  smaller  and 
smaller,  until  the  script  is  reduced  to  a  comfortable, 
normal  size. 

Speed  and  accuracy  are  painfully  difficult  problems  if 
writing  is  acquired  after  a  logical,  alphabetical,  calligraphic 


HANDWRITING  221 

manner,  but  not  if  a  premium  is  always  put  upon  spirit 
and,  rhythm,  and  words  are  written  as  fluent  wholes.  Free 
activity,  rhythm,  and  emotion,  rather  than  analysis,  char- 
acterize childhood.  Oral  language,  the  inspiration  of  written 
language,  is  acquired,  not  by  intellectual  analysis,  but  by 
imitation,  suggestion,  and  play.  A  method  realizing  these 
ideals  should  extend  to  written  language.  If  the  spoken 
language  and  oral  reading  of  children  are  made  self-conscious 
by  phonetic  analysis  of  words,  evil  consequences  will  fol- 
low. Misguided  phonetic  drill  has  been  called  the  breeding 
ground  of  the  stuttering  habit  in  our  elementary  schools. 
If  this  is  true  of  the  speech  habit,  why  should  it  not  hold 
true  of  the  writing  habit  ?  There  is,  indeed,  a  vast  amount 
of  awkward,  hesitant,  more  or  less  atactic  writing  in  our 
schools,  for  which  the  hyperlogical,  alphabetic  method  of 
instruction  must  be  held  responsible. 

A  recent  system  of  writing,  for  example,  recommends  in 
its  teacher's  manual  the  analytic  presentation  of  words,  and 
even  of  letters,  as  follows:  "<&w-.  Begin  the  word  'cow' 
with  a  dot,  come  down,  turn,  go  up,  come  back,  turn,  go 
up,  close  the  0,  or  oval,  go  over,  make  a  point,  come  down, 
make  turn,  go  up,  make  angle,  come  down,  turn,  go  up, 
make  a  little  loop  or  dot?  and  finish  toward  the  dot."  "c/^e. 
What  letter  is  it  in  the  middle  of  the  word  '  ice '  ?  It  is 
the  letter  c.  What  does  it  look  like  ?  It  looks  something 
like  an  ice  hook,  and  the  e  looks  as  though  it  were  a  rope 
tied  to  the  hook.  Do  you  think  you  could  tie  the  three 
letters  together  with  a  pencil  on  paper?"  "fay.  Lead  the 
pupil  to  observe  that  the  y  contains  a  /,  two  more  strokes 
and  turns  in  the  beginning.  Be  sure  that  y  has  two  more 
turns,  one  angle  and  one  loop."  The  downstroke  of  r  is 
called  "the  bend  of  a  boy's  knee,"  and  the  o's  are  "plump 
and  rosy-cheeked ! "  If  the  word-picture  idea  set  forth 


222   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

above  means  anything,  all  such  analysis,  with  its  arrant, 
befuddling  association,  must  be  considered  the  worst  enemy 
of  fluent  script. 

There  is  no  subject  in  the  elementary  grades  which,  in 
its  early  stages  at  least,  is  so  unscientifically  taught  as  is 
writing.  The  children  are  at  once  set  to  the  task  of  execut- 
ing the  twenty-six  letters  of  the  alphabet,  —  a  task  which 
the  race  mastered  only  yesterday.  That  the  amateur  is  not 
ready  for  this  undertaking  is  put  beyond  dispute  by  the  con- 
tortions of  his  little  muscular  system,  —  contortions  which 
extend  from  the  twisting  tongue  to  the  very  toes.  Could 
any  picture  be  much  more  unchildlike  ?  Compare  the  smil- 
ing faces  and  poised  bodies  of  a  group  of  the  same  amateurs 
harmoniously  indulging  their  fundamental  muscles  in  free- 
flowing  motion-pictures,  expressing  familiar  images,  feeling 
the  pulse  and  joy  of  rhythmic  movement.  Such  writing, 
however  simple,  is  expressive  and  educative  in  the  deepest 
sense,  because  it  conforms  to  the  child's  capacity,  to  his 
interest,  and  to  the  experience  of  his  racial  ancestors.  It 
glows  with  truly  childlike  creativeness.  The  fluidity  and 
living  qualities  which  motion-picture  writing  possesses,  and 
of  which  all  writing  ought  to  partake,  elude  description. 
In  fact,  the  suggestions,  which  we  have  found  rather  diffi- 
cult to  put  into  words,  should  not  be  taken  seriously  by 
any  one  who  does  not  believe  in  the  principle  that  nature 
desires  children  always  to  work  by  mood  and  motive.  The 
teacher's  personality  and  her  own  joy  of  rhythm  and  easy, 
expressive  motion  must  be  depended  upon  to  give  the 
suggestions  their  true  spirit  and  full  intent. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

NATURE   STUDY 

"  Pupils  study  nature  in  the  schools,  and  when  they  get 
out  they  cannot  find  her."  Such  an  accusation  would  be  un- 
deserved if  nature  study  began  in  the  primary-school  period 
in  first-hand,  rapturous  contact  with  living,  growing  things. 

There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,  but  to  childhood  all 
is  novelty.  The  most  commonplace  things  teem  with  nov- 
elty. Childhood  endows  all  nature,  both  animate  and  inan- 
imate, with  motive  and  character;  with  fantastic  self -illusion 
even  sticks  and  stones  are  made  to  symbolize  thought  and 
feeling.  Nature  becomes  the  playground  of  the  imagination, 
and  out  of  this  joyous,  naive  contact  with  life  spring  the 
deeper  sentiments  of  reverence  and  faith.  Children  are  in 
a  stage  of  sense  experience  when  this  warm  glow  of  contact 
through  eye  and  ear  and  touch  may  be  transmuted  into  the 
life  of  spirit ;  when  light,  shadow,  sound,  motion,  and  touch 
weave  a  tangle  of  lovely  associations  around  commonplace 
experiences  and  build  up  a  deep  appreciation  of  life  and 
things.  Thus  the  truths  of  nature  become  unconsciously 
associated  with  emotional  response,  which  deepens  and 
safeguards  them. 

The  child  learns  more  through  unconscious  absorption 
than  through  didactic  prescription,  and  in  nature  study  daily 
contact  with  the  beauty,  motive,  and  unceasing  effort  every- 
where shown  by  plant  and  animal  gives  an  impulse  to  in- 
dividual character  and  sets  standards  of  behavior.  In  nature, 
science  and  beauty  walk  hand  in  hand.  They  have  not  been 

223 


224   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

divorced  by  the  pedagogue,  to  follow  separate  paths,  and 
facts  retain  their  romantic  setting.  It  is  not  knowledge 
alone  which  counts  in  life,  but  knowledge  plus  feeling. 

Primitive  man  was  forced  into  rich  contact  with  nature, 
for  his  daily  needs  depended  upon  his  knowledge  of  her 
moods  and  products ;  but  the  modern  child,  primitive  in  all 


FlG.  52.     "WOLKENSCHIFFE 

(From  "  Die  Woche  fur  die  deutsche  Jugend  ") 

other  respects,  is  withdrawn  from  such  communion,  and  he 
misses  both  the  stimulus  and  the  inspiration  when  his 
nature  study  is  made  stilted  and  intellectual. 

The  child  naturally  has  an  animistic  feeling  for  facts. 
The  wind  and  the  rain  become  the  friends  of  childhood. 
The  raindrops  dance  like  brownies  as  they  patter  on  the 
stones  outside,  or  softly  fall  to  give  the  thirsty  flowers 
drink.  The  wind  howls  and  sings  and  whistles,  or  chases 


NATURE  STUDY  225 

the  grasses  over  the  meadow.  It  is  well  for  the  elements 
to  play  a  part  in  the  life  of  childhood  in  lighter  moods  be- 
fore they  are  studied  as  the  pregnant  forces  which  mold  and 
transfigure  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  child  who  has  felt 
the  wind  blowing  in  his  hair,  who  has  watched  to  see  whence 
it  came  when  it  stole  his  cap  away,  who  has  run  with  it  to 
fly  his  kite  and  listened  to  its  rustle  among  the  trees,  is 
better  ready  to  study  it  in  its  sterner  moods  when  he  meets 
it  as  ^a  great  factor  in  erosion  or  as  a  motive  power  in  the 
industrial  world. 

We  miss  our  opportunities.  We  give  perfunctory  in- 
struction indoors  when  nature  is  teaching  the  same  lesson 
far  better  out  of  doors ;  in  art,  the  children  struggle  with 
perspective  before  we  have  allowed  them  to  feast  their  eyes 
upon  the  lights  and  shadows  under  the  trees  or  to  watch 
the  colors  shimmer  and  fade  in  the  rainbow,  while  outdoors 
lines  are  falling  into  exquisite  composition  through  vistas  of 
trees  and  rounded  hills,  in  the  curves  of  the  petals  of  every 
flower,  and  in  the  strength  and  bigness  of  the  cliffs. 

Similarly,  the  number  sense  is  stifled  by  notation  on  the 
blackboard  and  not  developed  by  the  fundamental  concep- 
tions of  size,  distance,  and  form  in  every  open  field.  Num- 
ber conceptions  are  born  in  nature,  not  in  arithmetics.  Out 
of  doors  the  child's  sense  of  direction  may  be  easily  trained 
to  a  feeling  for  north,  south,  east,  west.  There  the  relative 
height  of  trees,  shrubs,  and  plants,  the  length  of  his  garden 
plot,  the  space  between  rows  of  vegetables,  establish  stand- 
ards of  measure  and  proportion.  The  child  cannot  deal  with 
these  concrete  expressions  of  life  and  motion  without  con- 
stantly making  comparisons,  training  judgment,  stating 
and  verifying  conclusions ;  these  experiences  are  the  basis 
of  number  concepts.  The  child  needs  intimate  experiences 
with  long,  short,  round,  square,  acute,  obtuse,  big  and  little, 


226   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

not  the  obtrusive  insertion  in  arithmetics  of  so-called  con- 
crete problems,  as,  "  If  I  have  four  apples,  and  I  give  two 
to  John,  how  many  have  I  left  ?  "  when  the  child  who  works 
the  problem  has  not  had  one  apple,  much  less  four. 

Children  are  hungry  for  facts,  and  no  fairy  tale  can  hold 
a  deeper  interest  for  them  than  the  truths  of  life  itself.  Na- 
ture is  at  work  everywhere,  tearing  down  and  building  up, 
and  the  children  may  watch  her  in  her  workshop.  Little 
children  may  not  understand  the  term  "erosion,"  but  they 
will  listen  with  rapt  attention  to  the  story  of  how  the  sand 
was  made,  and  come  to  a  new  consciousness  in  regard 
to  water,  wind,  and  weather.  Animal  life,  from  the  tiny 
earthworm  to  the  bulky  elephant,  from  the  grasshopper  to 
the  wonder  animals  of  the  sea,  seems  to  weave  a  spell  of 
enchantment  for  children,  and  to  surpass  the  cleverest 
bits  of  fiction  in  interest. 

They  are  ready  likewise  to  hear  the  marvelous  truths 
about  the  sun,  to  indulge  their  imagination  in  the  immensity 
of  its  great  distance  from  the  earth  and  yet  to  know  that 
the  sun  touches  their  lives  at  every  point.  A  study  of  the 
sun  opens  up  hours  of  fascinating  thought  about  light  and 
darkness,  day  and  night,  month  and  year,  sunset  and  sun- 
rise, sundial  and  shadow;  about  the  effect  of  the  sun  upon 
plant  and  animal,  upon  food,  shelter,  clothing;  about  its 
relationship  to  health  and  even  happiness,  and  to  all  the  in- 
teresting facts  of  temperature,  steam,  fuel,  evaporation,  etc. 
Besides  these  truths,  for  which  primary-school  children  are 
ready,  there  is  a  wealth  of  material  in  myth,  poem,  and  folk- 
lore which  will  stir  the  imagination  and  charm  the  listener. 

Children  feel  the  wonder  and  beauty  of  life ;  they  are  in 
love  with  it  and  hold  intimate  communion  with  its  humblest 
expression.  Nature  is  reluctant  to  give  them  up,  and  still 
holds  them  by  the  hand  to  let  them  share  her  secrets  with 


NATURE  STUDY  227 

the  birds  and  flowers.  Self -consciousness  has  not  yet  broken 
the  spell,  and  a  child  feels  himself  a  part  of  one  great, 
triumphant  burst  of  life.  All  the  world 's  akin.  The  wind 
talks  to  him,  the  flowers  bloom  and  hide  for  him,  the  sun 
sends  a  shadow  playmate  to  him,  and  he  does  not  question 
why.  His  quick  imagination  interprets  the  messages  of 
sight,  sound,  and  touch  which  greet  him  everywhere,  and 
the  purity  of  his  contact  with  life  fortifies  his  faith  in  it. 

The  child  who  stands  on  tiptoe  to  peep  cautiously  into 
the  new-found  bird's  nest,  who  feels  the  velvety  softness  of 
growing  things  beneath  his  feet  as  he  hunts  out  the  tiny 
wild  flowers  in  the  spring,  who  sows  his  own  garden  seed 
and  waits  to  see  the  first  young  green  push  its  way  through 
the  dark,  moist  soil,  is  building  up  a  reverence  for  life, 
a  sense  of  kinship  with  it,  which  will  uphold  him  in  his 
later  and  deeper  understanding  of  its  meaning. 

Why  is  it  that  the  little  child  who  bends  in  hushed  ten- 
derness over  the  new  baby's  crib,  who  instinctively  strokes 
the  baby  cheek  as  gently  as  if  it  were  the  frail  petal  of  a 
rose,  who  assumes  at  once  the  attitude  of  defense  and  paren- 
tal protection  toward  it,  often  becomes  the  guilty,  inquis- 
itive, unclean  boy  or  girl  ?  Why  do  children  run  to  meet 
life  with  eager  purity  and  go  away  soiled  by  the  contact  ? 
Is  it  not  because  we  are  all  afraid  of  truth ;  because  we 
give  them  feeble,  foolish  makeshifts  about  life  instead  of 
its  wonderful  facts  ?  We  begin,  with  the  perverted  inter- 
pretations and  sentimentality  of  the  so-called  nature  study 
in  the  primary  grades,  to  offer  unscientific  and  inane  fairy 
tales  about  nature,  which  degrade  the  imagination  but  do 
not  deceive  the  understanding.  Children  are  poetic,  sen- 
sitive, and  pure-hearted.  They  are  never  startled  by  the 
truth,  but  are  more  logical  than  we  concede,  and  silently 
reject  what  their  reason  tells  them  is  untrue.  The  little  boy 


228      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

of  five  who  said,  "  I  always  knew  the  stork  never  brought 
me,  for  I  have  n't  a  peck  in  my  side,  have  I  ? "  had  become 
a  common-sense  skeptic.  A  failure  to  give  him  then  and 
there  as  much  of  the  truth  as  he  was  ready  for  and  the 
consciousness  that  he  could  always  find  an  answer  to  his 
questions  would  have  started  him  upon  the  unclean  path. 
Nature  is  frank ;  she  presents  a  beautiful  panorama  of  life, 
death,  reproduction,  mating,  and  parenthood,  and  calls  the 
growing  child  to  come  and  look  upon  it ;  the  child  is  ready 
to  take  it  in  with  pure  eyes,  to  catch  the  wonder,  beauty, 
and  responsibility  of  it  all,  to  become  the  champion  of  its 
cleanness  and  of  its  health.  But  instead  of  such  frank 
contact  with  nature,  which  is  fundamentally  necessary  to 
awaken  a  true  regard  for  the  great  facts  of  sex,  he  is  stopped 
and  blindfolded  on  the  very  threshold  of  his  experience; 
he  is  given  fiction  instead  of  truth,  and  filled  with  sophis- 
ticated and  false  ideas  of  modesty  which  eventually  drive 
out  genuine  purity  and  reverence  for  truth.  The  child 
who  has  truth  confided  him  as  a  precious  gift  will  cherish 
and  guard  it,  but  the  child  who  ferrets  it  out  for  himself 
with  inquisitive  suggestiveness  will  feel  no  responsibility 
for  its  keeping,  but  toss  it  about  in  boastful  grossness. 
Ignorance  is  not  purity,  knowledge  is  not  purity ;  but 
knowledge  of  facts  colored  with  emotional  reaction,  rev- 
erent possession  of  truth,  can  never  soil  the  mind.  The 
child  who  in  nature  study  holds  some  frail  bit  of  life  in 
his  hands  and  reverently  watches  its  beautiful  unfoldment 
will  appreciate  and  champion  its  sacredness. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BUSY-WORK 

Busy-work  occupies  an  unenviable  position  in  the  course 
of  study.  Its  opponents  call  it  "  idiot's  delight ";  its  sup- 
porters smile  inwardly  and  regard  it  as  a  necessary  evil. 
It  is  a  veritable  Cinderella  in  the  educational  household, 
—  tolerated  because  there  is  no  available  substitute.  Like 
Cinderella,  however,  it  only  needs  a  fairy  godmother  to 
bring  it  to  its  own.  Properly  handled,  busy-work  offers 
endless  opportunities  for  training.  What  can  be  done,  then, 
to  give  it  value  ?  It  must  be  so  planned  that  it  will  give 
opportunity  for  independent  thinking  on  the  part  of  the 
child  and  enable  him  to  reenforce,  by  his  own  effort,  the 
knowledge  or  skill  gained  in  previous  recitations.  Busy- 
work  must  do  more  than  consume  time  ;  it  must  make  wise 
use  of  it.  It  must  not  be  administered  as  a  kind  of  quiet- 
ing potion,  to  impress  the  superintendent  when  he  makes 
his  hurried  rounds,  but  must  be  full  of  definite  purpose. 

Busy -work,  to  be  effective,  must  conform  to  certain  con- 
ditions. It  must  present  a  problem  commensurate  with  the 
ability  of  the  child;  it  must  afford  sufficient  variety  to 
hold  the  attention  of  the  child ;  the  period  of  concentration 
must  not  be  too  long ;  the  directions  given  when  the  task 
is  assigned  must  be  definite  and  simple ;  the  results'  accom- 
plished during  the  period  must  be  noted  by  the  teacher. 

Power  develops  in  proportion  to  the  effort  expended. 
The  utter  absence  of  individual  effort  in  an  exercise  of 
twenty-five  minutes  —  the  time  usually  allotted  to  the 

229 


230   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

busy -work  —  is  an  irreparable  loss.  Laying  sticks  to  make 
a  pigeon  house,  which  a  child  of  three  could  do  with  his 
eyes  closed,  represents  the  character  of  a  large  portion  of 
the  work.  What  is  the  result  of  such  vacuous  occupation  ? 
Young  children  are  forming  habits  either  of  healthful 
activity,  or  of  inconsequent  dawdling,  every  day  that  they 
live.  One  chief  reason  why  we  find  a  lack  of  individual 
attack  in  study,  an  inability  to  concentrate,  and  a  disin- 
tegrating languor  in  the  upper  grades  is  the  pretense  of 
industry  and  semblance  of  study  in  the  first  grade. 

The  child  who  is  not  productively  occupied  necessarily 
hunts  mischief  as  a  relief.  He  steals  a  chance  to  disobey, 
to  talk,  or  to  destroy  what  he  is  oftentimes  ashamed  to  have 
made.  When  children  are  allowed  to  manage  their  own 
time  you  never  find  them  lounging  for  twenty-five  minutes, 
or  languidly  gazing  out  of  the  window.  Natural  children 
keep  wholesomely  occupied.  Their  brains  and  hands  are 
busy.  They  are  plying  questions,  collecting  oddities,  or 
enjoying  a  well-earned  rest.  Busy-work  often  makes  use  of 
one  tenth  of  a  boy  or  girl,  and  leaves  the  other  nine  tenths 
actively  in  trouble,  or  humped  up  in  an  inert  mass  of  crooked 
shoulders.  On  the  contrary,  the  moment  a  child  has  a  task 
to  perform  which  is  worthy  of  his  effort,  what  happens? 
His  body  straightens  up,  his  blood  flows  freely  to  his  brain 
and  tingles  in  his  finger-tips.  During  lazy  busy-work  the 
child  knows  that  he  is  merely  being  disposed  of,  that  the 
task  imposed  is  nominal,  and  that  he  is  not  responsible 
for  its  completion.  Such  a  state  of  affairs  breeds  false 
conceptions  of  work. 

If  you  are  not  skillful  enough  to  plan  and  direct  this 
period,  turn  the  children  out  to  play  vigorously  in  the  yard. 
They  will  come  back  glowing  with  energy,  not  crippled  with 
inertia.  They  will  be  set  for  work,  not  against  it.  Idleness 


BUSY-WORK  231 

is  a  habit.  The  boy  or  girl  who  is  idle  in  busy-work  will 
be  idle  in  reading  and  arithmetic.  But,  on  the  contrary, 
energy  wisely  expended  renews  itself  and  accumulates 
power,  which  transfers  itself  into  other  lines  of  effort. 

From  the  teacher's  point  of  view  alone,  ineffectual  busy- 
work  means  that  the  child's  natural  output  of  energy  is 
being  diminished,  and  that  his  reaction  to  the  next  exer- 
cise will  be  retarded  and  more  difficult.  Initiative,  per- 
severance, attention,  and  enthusiasm  are  necessary  to 
success.  These  qualities  are  being  wiped  out  by  accu- 
mulated dawdling.  They  cannot  be  tapped  just  for  read- 
ing and  writing,  but  are  the  outcome  of  everyday  habit  and 
exercise.  The  whole  problem  is  one  of  attitude,  —  atti- 
tude toward  school  and  work  until  the  love  of  independent 
effort  becomes  identified  with  the  child's  character.  It  is 
a  question  of  self-preservation  for  teachers  to  so  direct 
these  periods  that  they  will  improve  rather  than  injure  the 
working  attitude  of  the  children. 

We  grow  to  like  activities  to  which  we  were  at  first 
indifferent,  because  of  their  association  with  happy  hours. 
This  period  should  bring  to  the  child  a  sense  of  satisfac- 
tion in  work  and  achievement.  It  should  excite  a  pride  in 
the  ability  to  begin  and  to  complete  a  task  without  help, 
so  that  the  child  may  feel  the  moral  uplift  of  successful, 
independent  effort.  He  should  form  a  habit  of  expecting 
results  and  of  holding  self  to  account ;  for  the  duty  of  the 
primary  school  is  to  form  habits  of  self-help,  —  habits  which 
will  be  useful  to  the  child  throughout  his  whole  school  life, 
not  habits  which  will  have  to  be  broken  as  soon  as  he  reaches 
the  grammar  grades. 

Do  not  try  to  force  the  very  young  children  to  study  dur- 
ing this  period,  but  give  them  the  organized  play  material 
of  the  kindergarten,  —  material  which  calls  for  constructive 


232   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PKIMAKY  SCHOOL 

activity.  The  little  child  is  so  undeveloped  intellectually 
that  he  needs  material  full  of  such  suggestiveness  that  it  is 
easily  transformed  and  will  invite  expression  and  invention. 
See  that  his  problem  requires  him  to  compare,  judge,  and 
formulate  some  conclusion.  He  must  learn  to  think  before 
he  learns  to  study.  The  mind  of  the  unthinking  child  will 
lose  its  power  to  organize,  and  become  as  inconsequent  as 
an  atrophied  muscle.  How  can  busy-work  be  made  to  meet 
these  requirements  ? 

1.  By  discarding  those  boxes  of  small  letters  used  to 
spell  words,  which  are  thrust  at  you  every  time  busy-work 
is  mentioned.   These  letters  are  enemies,  not  friends.  Walk 
down  the  aisle  of  your  room  and  see  them  standing  on 
their  heads,  or  pushing  into  the  wrong  place  in  the  word, 
or  taking  up  too  much  or  too  little  space.  You  spend  fifteen 
minutes  presenting  the  correct  visual  and  auditory  impres- 
sion of  words  to  be  spelled,  and  then  compel  the  children 
to  spend   twenty-five    minutes    looking   at   the    distorted 
images  which  they  construct  out  of  these  ugly  little  letters. 
If  spelling  must  be  taught,  replace  those  letters  by  words 
and  sentences,  printed,  or  written   in  a  bold,  free  hand. 
There  are  many  occupations  which  will  reenforce  the  spell- 
ing ;  for  instance,  give  every  child  two  envelopes,  —  one  con- 
taining pictures ;  the  other,  words  which  name  the  objects 
pictured.    Allow  the  children  during  the  busy-work  period 
to  match  these  on  their  desks. 

2.  Make  packs  of  cards,  with  pictures  on  one  side  and 
words  on  the  other.   Encourage  the  children  to  run  through 
these  packs  until  they  can    name  all  the  words  without 
looking  at  the  pictures  on  the  back  of  the  cards.    Perhaps 
they  will  not  be  able  to  do  this  the  first  time,  but  if  the 
children  know  that  they  are  allowed  to  look  until  they 
can  name  all  the  words  without  such  help,  instead  of  an 


BUSY-WORK  233 

effort  to  cheat  there  will  be  an  effort  to  perform  the  task, 
and  a  pride  awakened  in  success. 

3.  Write  a  short  story  on  the  board  (three  or  four  sen- 
tences can  be  made  to  tell  a  vital  story,  full  of  action  and 
within  the  children's  reading  capacity),  which  the  chil- 
dren are  to  illustrate.    Let  them  copy  the  story  under  their 
illustrations  when  they  have  completed  them.    When  this 
is  done  they  may  use  the  words  found  in  your  story  to 
write  an  original  one,  which  they  may  also  illustrate.    Such 
occupation  keeps  the  correct  images  of  words  before  the 
children,  enforces  repetition  of   words,    and   incorporates 
them  into  the  working  vocabularies. 

4.  Have  the  children  tell  something  which  happened  on 
the  playground,  allowing  them  to  draw  pictures  when  they 
do  not  know  how  to  spell  the  words.    These  picture  stories 
form  a  suggestive  basis  for  word  study  the  next  day. 

5.  Children  should  be  allowed  to  make  scrapbooks  and 
to  use  this  period  occasionally  to  paste  in  pictures  that 
appeal  to  them.    By  looking  over  these  books,  reading  les- 
sons can  be  formulated  about  the  pictures  which  will  make 
use  of  all  the  "  required  words,"  and  at  the  same  time  in- 
sure intelligent  rereading  by  the  children-    The  children 
can  then  review  the  words  contained  in  the  stories  by  using 
them  to  label  the  pictures  in  their  books.    This  labeling  of 
objects  is  natural  and  childlike,  and  can  be  made  use  of  in 
many  ways  to  enlarge  and  reenforce  the  written  vocabulary. 
These  scrapbooks  will  be  most  individual  and  reflect  the 
interests  of  each  child;  the  vocabulary  contained  in  each 
book  will  therefore  be  distinctive,  and  will  increase  tenfold 
the  retentive  power  of  the  children's  minds  by  conforming 
to  individual  tastes. 

6.  Write  a  list  of  suggestive  words  on  the  board.    The 
children  may  make  as  many  stories  as  they  can  out  of  them. 


234   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

7.  Write  simple  questions  on  the  board  for  the  children 
to  answer,  either  with  a  drawing  or  in  words.    This  can  be 
made  a  conversation  between  the  teacher  and  the  children, 
and  is  the  beginning  of  letter  writing. 

8.  Draw  a  picture  on  the  board,  and  write  the  necessary 
words  to  tell  a  story  about  it,  in  a  column  at  the  side. 
The  children  must  tell  the  story. 

9.  Give  the  children  scissors  to  cut  out  pictures  of  words 
which  have  been  written  on  the  blackboard.    Each  child 
must  write  the  correct  word  on  the  back  of  his  pictures. 
In  putting  words  on  the  blackboard  always  write  the,  or  a, 
or  an,  before  them,  that  the  children  may  be  accustomed 
to  the  use  of  the  articles  and  be  spared  drill  upon  them 
apart  from  nouns. 

10.  Sentence  building,  with  written  or  printed  words. 
The  stories  may  be  copied  from  the  board  by  small  chil- 
dren, and  with  the  older  children  they  may  take  the  form 
of  original  stories  about  some  definite  thing. 

11.  The  children  should  be  encouraged   to  begin   dic- 
tionaries in  the  lower  grades.    Make  books  that  are  easily 
handled  and  leave  wide  spaces  between  the  lines.    At  the 
top  of  each  section  paste,  in  large  letters,  one  of  the  word 
endings,  such  as  ate,  and,  at,  ind,  one,  etc.,  and  allow  the 
children  time  to  insert  under  these  headings  words  which 
they  have  met  in  their  reading  lesson. 

12.  Use  storybooks,  provided  for  the  purpose  and  con- 
taining simply  sight  reading.    Set  problems  for  the  chil- 
dren to  solve ;  for  instance,  they  might  copy  all  the  words 
which  describe  winter  (or  whatever  the  story  is  about) ;  all 
the  words  that  they  can  draw  a  picture  of ;  all  the  words 
which  tell  them  to  do  something. 

13.  Put  simple  directions  on  the  board  which  tell  the 
children  to  make   something  —  adding  a  simple  diagram 


BUSY-WORK  235 

if  necessary.  This  is  easily  begun  in  paper  cutting;  for 
instance,  "Cut  out  a  horse  with  a  long  tail.  Cut  out  a  boy 
and  his  dog,"  etc.,  making  the  problem  more  difficult  with 
the  increasing  power  to  read  and  to  carry  out  directions. 
Whenever  the  reading  can  be  made  a  means  of  real  com- 
munication between  teacher  and  pupil,  it  adds  motive  and 
interest.  Children  should  not  read  just  to  let  their  teacher 
know  that  they  can  recognize  the  words  by  sight. 

14.  Directed  handwork  where  the  children  have  a  piece 
of  work  to  do  and  know  how  to  do  it.  Purposeful  paper 
folding,  paper  cutting,  free-hand  sewing,  stringing  nature 
material,  cutting  patterns,  or  making  designs  for  a  definite 
purpose.  Bring  into  the  first  grade  as  much  kindergarten 
material  as  you  know  how  to  make  use  of,  and  set  a  defi- 
nite problem,  in  keeping  with  the  child's  capacity.  The  few 
moments  which  it  takes  to  plan  and  start  the  busy-work 
are  well  spent.  A  child  should  know  that  he  will  be  held 
responsible  for  his  time.  He  should  work  honestly  or  else 
rest  completely. 

From  the  very  beginning  of  school  life  the  children 
should  associate  the  classroom  with  happy,  energetic  work, 
and  never  with  languid,  waiting  listlessness.  Little  chil- 
dren are  not  able  to  do  much  studying  alone ;  they  have 
neither  the  capacity  nor  the  incentive.  Much  effort  must 
be  given  then  to  plan  these  periods,  and  to  see  that  the 
children  are  gaining  and  not  losing  in  the  power  of  inde- 
pendent application.  The  word  "  study "  should  be  fre- 
quently made  use  of  in  talking  with  little  children,  and 
in  connection  with  a  variety  of  interesting  problems,  so 
that  they  may  not  associate  study  with  an  uninteresting, 
dog-eared  book,  out  of  which  all  the  juice  has  been  ex- 
tracted. "Study"  means  "attack";  it  means  the  solution 
of  delightful  problems  in  handwork,  reading,  dramatic  play, 


236      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

and  games.  If  such  terms  as  "Think  it  out,"  "Find  a  way," 
were  used  interchangeably  with  "  study,"  little  children 
would  begin  their  school  life  with  a  clearer  idea  of  what  it 
means  to  study.  It  is  natural  for  a  child  to  enjoy  study 
if  study  means  the  solution  of  a  problem.  Children  take  a 
delight  in  success,  whether  it  is  in  the  classroom  or  on  the 
playground. 

The  business  of  the  primary  grades  is  not  to  give  infor- 
mation, but  to  teach  the  children  how  to  get  it.  To  teach 
them  how  to  work  independently  is  of  more  importance 
than  to  teach  them  the  technique  of  reading.  The  grammar 
grades  and  the  high  school  need  pupils  who  can  think ; 
they  have  plenty  who  can  memorize  words.  But  they  will 
continue  to  be  surfeited  with  lip  workers  until  the  primary 
school  agrees  to  train  the  thought  powers  of  the  child,  until 
it  makes  use  of  its  rare  privilege  to  form  happy  associations 
in  his  mind  with  "  study"  and  "work." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OUTDOOR   PLAY 

There  is  in  the  elementary  school  a  serious  lack  of  the 
right  kind  of  wholesome  exercise  for  the  younger  children. 
The  same  pedagogy  which  applies  to  the  intellectual  work 
of  the  primary-school  child  should  regulate  his  exercise. 
Just  as  formal  drill  and  technique  in  the  presentation  of 
subject  matter  stultifies  the  deepest  instincts  and  poten- 
tialities of  the  child's  mental  life,  so  perfunctory,  formal 
gymnastics  impede  his  physical  development. 

Children  need  spirited,  playful,  imaginative,  dramatic 
exercise  which  makes  a  demand  upon  their  whole  nature, 
—  exercise  which  utilizes  in  an  instinctive  way  the  large, 
muscular  masses  that  effect  respiration,  digestion,  and  ex- 
cretion, which  tone  up  the  whole  body  through  graceful, 
childlike  abandon.  The  child's  desire  for  play  leads  him 
unconsciously  into  an  active,  spirited,  rhythmical  use  of  his 
large,  fundamental  muscles.  Rhythm  is  a  loved  impulse  in 
child  life  and,  if  incorporated  into  his  exercise,  will  lead 
to  grace  and  artistic  delight. 

The  kindergarten  catches  the  child  in  the  midst  of  this 
fluent,  rhythmical  expression,  and  lends  a  hand  in  rhythmic 
dances,  ball  plays,  tiptoe  games,  and  imitative  and  imagi- 
native exercises.  So  far  so  good  ;  but  what  of  the  primary- 
school  child,  who  is  running  over  with  the  same  deep  tend 
encies  and  love  of  rhythmic  play  ?  He  is  cut  off  from  this 
expression  and  is  too  often  allowed  only  the  rough,  unorgan- 
ized play  of  the  recess  hour,  or  the  perfunctory  shifting  of 

237 


238      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

arms  and  legs  to  the  solemn  "up,  down,  up,  down,"  of  the 
tired  teacher.  For  the  lack  of  organized,  spirited,  dramatic 
play  the  primary-school  child  settles  back  on  his  heels  and 
loses  his  innate  buoyancy  and  grace. 

The  young  child  loves  life  and  motion.  He  can  fly  like 
a  bird,  hop  like  a  frog,  run  as  lightly  as  the  quail.  He  has 
a  reverent  interest  in  the  earth,  and  likes  to  imitate  and 
understand  all  the  industries  and  activities  around  him.  He 
will  dig,  plant,  and  rake.  He  will  build,  climb,  jump,  run, 
and  skip ;  he  is  versatile  beyond  all  expression  and  needs 
only  the  suggestion  of  his  environment,  coupled  with  the 
childlike  wisdom  of  an  understanding  comrade,  to  supply 
him  with  the  truest  and  happiest  exercise  of  his  whole  body. 

Why  should  the  primary-school  child,  as  soon  as  he  leaves 
the  kindergarten,  be  denied  the  inspiration  of  the  piano? 
Why  should  he  not  continue  to  hear  and  express  a  variety 
of  rhythmic  moods?  He  is  still  a  kindergarten  child  at 
heart  and  loves  to  march,  run,  skip,  fly,  dance,  and  swing 
to  the  persuasion  of  musical  accompaniment.  His  exercise 
should  continue  to  be  joyous,  graceful,  free,  exhilarating, 
unconscious.  He  cannot  get  it  on  the  streets  nor  in  the 
modern  home.  He  must  get  it  at  the  schools  if  he  is  to 
claim  his  proper  heritage. 

The  child  tingles  with  definite  muscular  coordinations; 
movements  which  have  been  of  use  to  the  race  in  its 
struggle  with  nature  survive  as  pregnant  tendencies  in  his 
neuromuscular  machinery.  Folk  games,  rhythmic  plays, 
and  dances  call  these  into  action  and  set  the  whole  body 
of  the  child  into  sympathetic  vibration.  The  gymnasium 
of  the  primary  school  should  therefore  be  a  covered  out- 
door pavilion  with  a  piano  and  plenty  of  light  and  air.  The 
children  should  dance,  sing,  march,  walk,  with  vital  step. 
They  should  play  with  balls,  —  big  balls,  little  balls,  balls 


OUTDOOR  PLAY  239 

to  roll,  to  toss,  to  bounce,  to  throw  into  a  bottomless  basket. 
They  should  climb  ladders,  roll  hoops,  fly  kites,  toss  bean 
bags,  knock  down  tenpins,  and  play  a  variety  of  selected 
folk  games,  with  their  mimicry  and  suggestion. 

In  a  suggestive  sentence  in  his  book  on  "Age,  Growth, 
and  Death"  Minot  says:  "When  a  cell  is  in  the  young 
state,  it  can  grow  rapidly ;  it  can  multiply  freely ;  when  it 
is  in  the  old  state,  it  loses  those  capacities,  and  its  growth 
and  multiplication  are  correspondingly  impeded  ;  and  if  the 
organization  is  carried  to  an  extreme,  the  growth  and  the 
multiplication  will  cease  altogether."  Outdoor  play,  with 
its  balanced,  graceful,  childlike  use  of  the  body,  will  create 
a  reserve  fund  of  energy,  a  deep  well  of  health,  from  which 
the  power  to  function  accurately  may  be  drawn  later.  But 
the  child  who  substitutes  organized  physical  drill  for  these 
more  wholesome  exercises  is  differentiating  cells,  not  multi- 
plying them ;  he  is  wearing  out  his  muscles  prematurely, 
not  building  them  up. 

If  young  children  lived  in  an  ideal  atmosphere,  where 
there  was  no  interference  with  the  wise  plans  of  nature, 
the  question  of  exercise  would  solve  itself  unconsciously 
in  play,  for  play  is  the  guardian  of  the  child's  physical 
health  and  furnishes  the  normal  stimulus  to  the  various 
organs  and  nerve  centers  of  the  body ;  but  modern  insti- 
tutions, both  social  and  educational,  impose  false  conditions, 
and  we  must  consciously  set  about  to  correct  the  compli- 
cations we  create.  We  must  use  certain  definite  gymnastic 
exercises  to  correct  contracted  chests  and  invite  the  res- 
piratory organs  to  take  in  their  normal  quantity  of  oxygen. 
We  are  responsible  for  the  bad  postures  and  sluggish  circu- 
lation which  follow  poor  ventilation  and  confinement.  We 
must  therefore  start  the  blood  flowing  naturally  by  the  use 
of  corrective,  formal  gymnastic  exercises.  But  even  these 


240   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

must  be  enjoyed  with  spirit  and  laughter  if  we  would 
accomplish  results,  and  the  amount  of  time  given  to  such 
work  depends  upon  the  gravity  of  the  false  conditions 
which  you  yourself  permit  in  your  own  classroom. 

The  startling  results  of  the  open-air  schools  have  con- 
vinced us  that  growing  children  are  as  dependent  upon 
pure  air  as  upon  wholesome  food.  But  we  are  victims  of 
an  indoor  habit,  and  it  takes  courage  to  be  true  to  our  con- 
victions. A  good  way  to  begin,  however,  would  be  to 
oxygenate  the  primary-school  child  by  holding  every  pos 
sible  session  outdoors,  and  by  turning  him  out  to  play  when- 
ever the  indoor  busy-work  proves  unprofitable.  Educate 
his  sense  of  smell  and  respiratory  organs  so  that  he  will 
rebel  against  confinement  in  a  close,  ill-ventilated  room  as 
he  would  against  a  shoe  that  pinches. 

Children  would  return  to  their  work  vitalized  and  buoy- 
ant if  short  out-of-door  intermissions  were  encouraged.  It 
is  conceded  that  we  are  a  nervous,  irritable  people.  One 
of  the  prime  causes  of  this  undue  nervousness  is  a  lack  of 
oxygen.  As  certain  chemical  experiments  go  to  prove,  the 
nervous  system,  perhaps  more  than  any  other  organ  in  the 
body,  requires  oxygen. 

For  many  reasons  children  need  short,  intensive  periods 
of  work  interspersed  with  many  intermissions  for  fresh  air 
and  play.  Dr.  W.  H.  Burnham,  in  his  article,  "  The  Hygiene 
of  Physical  Education"  {American  Physical  Education  Ite- 
view,Vo\.  XIV),  says :  "  From  the  point  of  view  of  hygiene 
the  aim  of  physical  training  is  the  development  of  habits 
of  healthful  activity  (using  the  word  '  habit '  in  its  broadest 
sense)  :  habits  of  digestion,  excretion ;  habits  of  storing  and 
expending  energy ;  habits  of  coordination  and  control ;  and 
even  the  reflexes  of  the  sympathetic  nervous  system,  as 
well  as  the  reactions  of  the  central  nervous  system.  .  .  . 


OUTDOOR  PLAY  241 

Hygiene  demands  special  consideration  of  the  development 
of  four  of  the  most  important  organs  of  the  body, —  the 
heart,  the  lungs,  the  digestive  apparatus,  and  the  nervous 
system.  .  .  .  The  natural  form  of  lung  gymnastics  is  free 
play  out  of  doors.  ...  If  the  lungs  are  not  developed 
properly  in  early  life,  the  defect  is  not  likely  to  be  remedied 
afterwards."  Again,  Dr.  Burnham  says:  "The  consensus 
of  expert  opinion  is  to  the  effect  that  the  best  means  of 
developing  the  fundamental  nerve  centers  are  the  various 
forms  of  free  play  ;  and  it  is  noteworthy  that  nearly  all  the 
movements  made  by  children  in  their  spontaneous  plays 
are  those  involving  these  centers,  and  that  the  accessory 
movements  are  rare  and  few  in  number.  .  .  .  Plays  should 
be  recreative  and  should  not  stimulate  to  great  nervous 
discharge." 

A  child  should  never  use  his  muscles  languidly,  but  with 
the  intoxication  of  delight,  if  he  is  to  benefit  by  that  use. 
G.  Stanley  Hall  says :  "  Muscles  are  in  a  most  intimate  and 
peculiar  sense  the  organs  of  the  will.  .  .  .  Character  might 
in  a  sense  be  defined  as  a  plexus  of  motor  habits.  .  .  .  Skill, 
endurance,  and  perseverance  might  almost  be  called  muscu- 
lar virtues,  and  fatigue,  velleity,  caprice,  ennui,  restlessness, 
lack  of  control  and  poise,  muscular  faults."  Should  not 
this  truth  cause  the  primary  school  to  look  to  the  normal 
muscular  health  of  its  children  ?  Is  it  not  a  commentary 
upon  civilization  to  read  that  savages  are  superior  to  civi- 
lized man  in  correct  or  aesthetic  proportions  of  the  body  ? 
The  savage  uses  his  body  in  fluent  expression  of  his  emo- 
tional life.  "  The  psychomotor  impulses  which  prompt 
play  are  the  forms  in  which  our  forbears  have  transmitted 
to  us  then-  habitual  activities."  The  child  who  is  denied 
the  expression  of  his  play  instincts  never  comes  into  his 
heritage  of  bodily  and  mental  health,  but  is  the  victim  of 


242      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

the -nervous  irritation  of  inhibited  tendencies.  Play  will 
neither  allow  the  muscles  of  the  body  to  become  flabby 
nor  develop  them  in  technical  skill,  but  will  establish 
that  balance  between  exercise  and  rest  which  results  in 
a  harmonious  growth  of  all  its  parts. 

The  child's  mood  is  king,  his  body  only  the  servant. 
Turn  the  pages  of  Gulick's  delightful  book,  "  The  Health- 
ful Art  of  Dancing,"  and  catch  the  contagion  of  its  joy- 
ous illustrations.  Happiness  is  the  vitalizing  energy  of 
child  life.  It  will  chase  out  all  idleness  and  listless  awk- 
wardness, and  set  the  body  in  harmonious  accord.  The  lovely 
children  dancing  on  the  roof  in  Gulick's  book  are  express- 
ing vibrant  joy,  and  their  bodies  have  taken  on  elasticity 
and  charm.  What  we  need  in  all  of  our  work  is  this  en- 
ticing spirit  of  the  dance,  glowing  abandon,  unconscious 
loveliness.  Childhood's  veins  are  full  of  it,  and  free  out- 
door play  and  the  rhythmic  folk  dance  will  perpetuate  it 
to  the  race. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MORNING  EXERCISES 

Look  at  the  beginning  of  any  piece  of  work  and  you 
can  foretell  the  character  of  its  end.  Attend  the  morning 
exercises  in  any  schoolroom  and  you  can  predict  what  the 
day's  work  will  be. 

Children  of  primary-school  age  are  forming  attitudes 
toward  work  and  play,  toward  life  as  they  live  from  day 
to  day.  They  are  piling  up  fundamental  experiences,  each 
one  of  which  will  leave  behind  it  an  emotional  tone.  The 
sum  of  these  experiences  and  responses  constitutes  char- 
acter, personality.  As  a  child  thinketh,  so  is  he,  and  the 
response  to  the  morning  exercise  becomes  the  child  himself. 
The  variety  of  his  impressions  and  the  spontaneity  of  his 
responses  establish  habitual  reactions  and  habitual  atti- 
tudes and  points  of  view.  A  child  is  different  who  has 
these  brief  expressions  of  joy  or  sudden  moments  of  con- 
scious seriousness,  or  who  cannot  refrain  from  bursts  of 
wholesome  laughter. 

Variety  in  emotional  expression  is  as  necessary  as  variety 
in  diet,  and  the  morning  exercises  afford  the  opportunity 
for  such  variety.'  The  child  is  more  alert,  more  sensitive, 
more  plastic  in  the  morning.  He  has  not  yet  fixed  his  day's 
attitude  by  unfortunate  omissions.  He  is  susceptible  to  im- 
pressions and  suggestions.  The  frankness  and  informality 
of  the  period  invite  individual  expression  and  necessitate 
individual  contact.  The  morning  exercises,  then,  should  be 
full  of  variety.  This  is  why  we  do  not  sanction  the  reading 

243 


244   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

of  one  continued  story.  Such  work  is  more  advantageously 
presented  during  the  literature  period.  Undoubtedly  the 
children  will  be  interested,  but  they  are  intent  upon  a  nar- 
rative, an  action,  receiving  for  the  most  part  only  one  im- 
pression. The  morning  exercises  should  start  a  variety  of 
impressions,  touch  upon  a  number  of  suggestive  experi- 
ences, call  out  individual  expression,  and  give  the  children 
many  points  of  view.  Small  bits  of  verse,  such  as  one  finds 
in  the  'c  Posy  Ring,"  or  "  Tree  Tops  and  Meadows,"  make 
such  a  course  possible.  Read  four  or  five  lines  of  a  serious 
sort,  then  a  line  or  two  of  laughter,  then  a  bit  of  pure  rip- 
pling nonsense  sound,  then  the  odd  bits  which  reflect  the 
consequences  of  familiar  childlike  faults.  These  are  imper- 
sonal, and,  because  they  are  not  consciously  aimed  at  the 
erring  boy  or  girl,  excite  deeper  reflection. 

"Morning  exercises,"  then,  is  the  time  for  a  kind  of  touch" 
and  go,  —  a  dropping  of  hints,  convictions,  suggestions,  and 
comments.  It  is  the  time  to  fire  the  imagination  and  loose 
the  spirit  of  childhood.  We  are  sometimes  too  much  con- 
cerned with  what  is  in  the  minds  of  little  children,  and  too 
unconscious  of  what  is  in  their  hearts.  Look  into  your 
children's  faces;  know  the  habitual  expression  of  each 
one,  that  you  may  have  a  starting  point  for  persuasion 
and  development. 

Know  the  habitual  physical  expression  peculiar  to  each 
child,  for  there  is  a  normal  physical  tone  reflected  in  body 
and  mind.  Watch  its  variations,  that  you  may  attribute 
unusual  conduct  to  unusual  conditions.  If  you  know  the 
physical  and  mental  tone  of  each  of  the  children,  —  the  ex- 
pected individual  reactions,  —  it  is  easier  to  account  for  and 
to  correct  discrepancies.  The  lack  of  breakfast,  lack  of  suffi- 
cient sleep,  or  the  resultant  irritability  of  a  nervous  hurry 
to  school  will  utterly  demoralize  the  best  child.  If  the 


MOKNING  EXERCISES  245 

teacher  does  not  recognize  these  artificial  conditions,  and 
find  an  opportunity  to  establish  the  child's  habitual  reac- 
tions by  a  moment  of  composure,  rest,  or  food,  the  work 
of  the  whole  day  will  be  disfigured. 

Sometimes  a  child's  mood  or  mental  state  must  be  changed 
by  the  morning  exercise  before  he  can  work  well.  Perhaps, 
before  he  left  for  school,  he  was  roughly  handled  at  home, 
or  he  has  been  teased  on  his  way  by  some  older  boy,  or 
he  has  met  with  some  accident  to  book  or  toy  or  clothes. 
These  are  trivial  sorrows  from  our  point  of  view,  but  they 
can  make  the  world  a  desolate  place  for  a  child  to  live  in. 
The  emotional  tone  which  these  unfortunate  experiences 
have  established  must  be  driven  out,  and  a  hopeful,  self- 
confident,  working  attitude  let  in.  The  boy  who  failed  yes- 
terday must  feel  success  to-day,  if  it  is  only  by  telling  a 
short  experience  or  by  showing  some  cherished  toy.  Toys 
are  precious  possessions  which  are  tied  to  children's  hearts. 
The  boy  who  shows  his  gun,  and  the  girl  who  shows  her 
new  doll,  lets  you  into  secret  places,  and  throws  the  barrier 
down.  One  can  slip  into  a  young  mother's  heart  by  feeling 
an  interest  in  her  new  baby;  one  can  slip  into  a  child's 
heart  by  frank  enjoyment  of  his  toys.  It  is  all  possession, 
after  all,  and  who  would  not  possess  a  little  new  wagon  or 
a*  shining  gun  !  These  are  the  intimate,  personal  possessions 
of  childhood,  which  bear  the  stamp  of  the  owner.  If  you 
cannot  without  self -consciousness  roll  a  hoop,  spin  a  top,  or 
croon  a  doll  to  sleep,  you  have  never  learned  the  language 
of  childhood,  and  you  are  a  stranger  in  a  foreign  land. 

Little  children  are  delicate  instruments,  and  they  must  be 
delicately  handled,  that  their  sensitiveness  and  possibili- 
ties may  balance  one  another.  Children  are  individualistic, 
personal,  intimate ;  the  teacher  of  children  must  enter  into 
these  experiences  and  imaginations  of  selfhood.  She  cannot 


246   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

deny  children  intimate  contact  if  she  would  be  of  any  serv- 
ice to  them.  The  first  fifteen  minutes  of  the  day  is  the  time 
for  such  contact,  —  for  companionship,  unconscious  direc- 
tion, and  subtle  suggestion.  It  is  the  time  to  bring  into  the 
classroom  the  sunlight,  the  freedom,  and  the  naivete  of  the 
outdoors.  It  is  the  time  to  start  observations,  questions, 
and  reflections.  It  is  the  time  to  set  definite  problems  of 
self-government,  and  to  establish  a  tradition  in  the  room 
which  will  become  like  the  air  one  breathes,  and  which  will 
be  the  pride  of  every  individual. 

Where  it  is  possible,  assign  a  few  morning  tasks ;  a 
committee  allowed  to  come  in  before  school  to  look  things 
over,  to  fix  the  erasers  and  chalk,  to  feed  the  pets  and  water 
the  flowers,  takes  on  a  pride  of  ownership  and  responsibility 
which  establishes  moral  attitudes.  Let  it  be  a  privilege  to 
contribute  to  the  general  comfort  in  this  way,  and  allow 
no  one's  name  to  appear  on  such  a  committee  who  has 
not  a  good  weekly  record. 

The  morning  exercise  is  the  time  to  establish  standards 
of  cleanliness,  and  persistence  in  good  physical  habits  in 
regard  to  sleep,  food,  and  elimination.  It  should  foster 
respect  for  private  property,  a  pride  in  ownership,  and  a 
measure  of  personal  responsibility  toward  the  general  con- 
duct of  the  school.  Every  child  should  have  a  pride  in 
being  dependable  and  self-reliant.  These  are  the  things  that 
build  the  morality  of  childhood,  and  all  the  preaching  in  the 
world  will  never  make  up  for  the  unconscious  influence  of 
the  teacher  during  this  period  of  intimate  confidence. 

Children  need  ideals,  not  punishment.  It  is  the  teacher's 
fault  when  the  boys  and  girls  are  dirty,  slouchy,  and  gener- 
ally unkempt.  The  boy  who  knows  that  there  is  some  one 
who  will  look  for  and  expect  clean  hands  and  face  soon 
sets  a  new  ideal  for  himself.  A  crooked  part  in  the  hair, 


MORNING  EXERCISES  247 

and  islands  of  dirt  still  clinging  around  his  eyes  and  nose, 
will  testify  to  his  first  conscious  struggles.  It  is  worth 
while  for  the  teacher  to  be  vigilant,  for  the  beautiful,  clean 
body  is.  a  safeguard  against  an  unclean  mind.  Make  a  stand- 
ard, then,  for  the  children  to  live  up  to,  —  not  a  rule  but  an 
ideal,  —  and  watch  the  crude  scramble  to  reach  it.  You  can- 
not command  children  all  the  time,  but  you  can  by  sugges- 
tion, interest,  and  encouragement  set  the  tide  of  a  whole 
room  surging  toward  a  desired  end.  The  dirtiest  boy  in  the 
room  will  astonish  you  some  morning  by  appearing  desper- 
ately clean,  with  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole. 

Little  children  must  be  led  to  the  fulfillment  of  their 
possibilities  through  a  firm  faith  in  the  unselfish  affection 
of  those  who  care  for  them.  The  child  is  controlled  by 
love.  He  understands  love,  for  his  heart  is  running  over 
with  it.  It  is  incorporated  into  his  being,  for  it  was  the 
force  which  first  gave  him  life,  and  it  is  the  energy  which 
will  continue  to  drive  him  on  to  excel  himself. 

The  briefness  and  the  informality  of  the  morning  exer- 
cise make  it  a  tremendous  influence  in  the  life  of  the  child. 
Pedagogy  cannot  be  measured  by  hours  or  minutes,  for  a 
child  often  develops  more  in  a  moment  of  joyous  personal 
contact  than  in  hours  of  conscious  teaching. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DISCIPLINE 

After  all,  what  is  discipline  ?  It  is  not  rule,  rote,  and 
silence,  but  the  establishment  of  a  working  attitude  in 
one's  classroom.  What  is  disorder  ?  It  is  only  that  which 
interferes  with  the  progress  or  the  comfort  of  any  member 
of  the  class. 

To  maintain  discipline  (and  according  to  the  definition 
above  it  is  absolutely  essential  to  success)  one  must  first 
study  the  health  of  the  children.  Discipline,  if  analyzed, 
would  be  found  to  include  ventilation,  light,  heat,  rest,  and 
cleanliness.  Discipline  is  unconsciously  affected  by  environ- 
ment; even  the  appearance  of  the  room  is  an  item  of  con- 
cern. A  vase  of  beautiful  flowers  arranged  with  an  eye  to 
color  and  proportion  may  be  made  a  source  of  control. 
Children  are  deeply  sensitive  to  their  surroundings,  and  may 
absorb  disorder  and  irritability  both  from  the  teacher  and 
the  general  atmosphere  of  the  room  in  which  they  work. 
Orderly  mental  habits  hover  over  the  boy  or  girl  who  has 
orderly  physical  habits,  and,  other  things  being  equal,  the 
clean  child  in  the  clean,  attractive  room  will  be  well  behaved. 

The  apathy  of  the  average  classroom  creates  first  a  nega- 
tive attitude  and  then  open  rebellion.  Good  discipline  is  a 
question  of  attitude.  Children  need  positive  direction,  and 
the  undirected  pretense  of  study  in  the  early  grades,  before 
the  children  are  capable  of  independent  study,  is  the  breed- 
ing ground  of  discontent  and  immorality.  We  are  forgetting 
that  it  is  not  learning  how  to  read  that  counts,  but  learning 

248 


DISCIPLINE  249 

how  to  think  and  to  study.  The  study  periods  of  the  pri- 
mary-school child  should  be  wisely  directed,  for  the  ability 
to  study  is  the  foundation  of  all  later  intellectual  progress. 

Obedience  is  not  a  birthright  of  children.  It  is  not  like 
the  gold  or  silver  spoon  put  into  the  mouth,  but  comes  to 
them  slowly,  growing  as  they  grow,  until  it  becomes  habitual 
to  be  law-abiding.  Disobedience,  likewise,  is  not  inherent. 
It  is  frequently  a  good  impulse  turned  in  a  wrong  direction. 
Many  children  are  not  intentionally  disobedient,  but  have  a 
career  of  carelessness  which  results  in  absent-mindedness, 
a  negative  attitude  toward  obligations,  and  a  general  moral 
incapacity.  Such  a  child  can  be  made  obedient  only  by  a 
patient  rebuilding  of  habits.  One  should  not  put  the  same 
exactions  upon  him  as  upon  the  child  who  comes  from  the 
orderly  home.  The  latter  has  absorbed  the  power  to  obey 
with  his  mother's  milk.  Regular  physical  habits  of  nourish- 
ment and  sleep  have  laid  the  foundation  for  his  orderly  moral 
response.  The  other  child  must  undo  the  habit  of  five  or  six 
years  of  shiftlessness,  to  take  on  the  habits  of  order  and  con- 
trol. Only  the  wise  and  sympathetic  teacher  can  help  him  to 
do  this.  He  must  be  led  from  one  success  to  another,  with  a 
consciousness  of  victory  that  is  pleasurable.  The  habitually 
disorderly  child,  who  is  plunged  into  the  school  routine  and 
expected  to  respond  to  all  of  its  regulations  at  once,  feels  a 
sense  of  defeat  that  results  in  an  antagonistic  attitude 
toward  school  and  hampers  his  progress.  We  are  learning  to 
grade  children  a  little  more  wisely  according  to  their  mental 
power,  and  we  must  now  learn  to  grade  them  morally. 

The  conventional  morality  of  childhood  is  not  a  thing  com- 
plete in  itself.  It  is,  after  all,  only  the  past  habitual  response 
of  the  individual  to  law  and  order.  It  is  the  result  of  training, 
not  of  inheritance.  The  child  who  comes  to  school  unruly 
must  therefore  be  looked  upon  not  with  dislike  but  simply 


250      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

as  deficient.  He  should  be  treated  with  the  same  consider- 
ation as  the  child  who  has  missed  a  half  year  by  sickness, 
or  who  has  been  moved  about  from  place  to  place  and  is 
behind  his  grade  in  specific  subjects.  Make  the  problem  in 
discipline  for  the  individual  child  within  his  capacity,  just 
as  you  do  his  reading  or  writing  lesson ;  then  see  that  he 
solves  it. 

Moral  power  must  grow  as  mental  power  does,  with  the 
opportunity  to  use  it.  The  gospel  of  good  discipline  lies  in 
first  making  the  child  willing  to  do  the  right  thing.  The 
teacher's  will,  however  strong,  cannot  control  the  child's 
conduct ;  he  must  do  that  himself,  and  he  will  do  it  if  he 
is  permitted  to  see  that  good  conduct  is  a  personal  pos- 
session that  works  to  his  own  advantage.  Children's  stand- 
ards are  not  altruistic ;  they  are  guided  by  consequences, 
and  legitimate  punishment  should  deal  with  such  personal 
and  practical  consequences. 

Children  are  considered  disobedient  when  there  is  abso- 
lutely no  conscious  desire  to  disobey.  A  whole  army  of  dis- 
orderly habits,  laying  siege  to  motor  impulses,  must  make 
disorderly  behavior  automatic.  The  study  of  the  psychol- 
ogy of  habit  opens  our  eyes  to  the  fact  that  disobedience  is 
as  reflex  in  some  children  as  their  respiration. 

Again,  many  children  are  hard  to  control  because,  in  a 
kind  of  self-defense  from  inopportune  and  incessant  correc- 
tion, they  have  learned  to  close  their  ear  traps  and  shut  out  all 
remonstrance.  They  frequently  do  not  hear  directions  and 
suggestions.  Commands  do  not  penetrate  their  central  nerv- 
ous system,  but  merely  slide  along  that  proverbial  path  from 
ear  to  ear.  Obedience  is  then  often  a  mere  matter  of  con- 
centration, attention  ;  and  if  you  will  observe  the  disobedient 
child  at  his  work,  he  is  equally  unable  to  concentrate  there. 
The  question  is,  then,  What  kind  of  correction  does  he 


DISCIPLINE  251 

need  ?  Does  he  need  to  be  punished  for  individual  offenses, 
or  does  he  need  to  be  trained  to  concentrate  ?  The  solution 
lies  in  training.  Many  a  child,  taught  to  apply  himself  in 
independent  study,  is  made  thereby  obedient. 

The  moral  law  of  childhood  is  physical,  social,  and  per- 
sonal. It  is  a  question  of  habit,  public  opinion,  and  personal 
application.  You  cannot  train  the  moral  impulse  of  a  child 
abstractly,  any  more  than  you  can  train  his  intellect  so. 
Moral  training,  like  mental  training,  must  be  concrete,  daily, 
by  example  and  practice,  beginning  with  small  victories  and 
leading  toward  larger  responsibilities.  Many  of  the  chil- 
dren, before  they  come  to  school,  have  never  had  a  definite 
required  task.  Such  children  need  immediately  to  be  given 
the  charge  of  some  school  pet,  or  the  care  of  some  article  in 
the  room,  that  the  task,  however  simple,  may  require  daily 
attention  and  give  concrete,  daily  evidence  of  any 'neglect. 
The  effects  of  the  child's  play  life  have  been  immediate, 
visible.  He  has  a  basis  of  judgment  in  regard  to  it,  and 
forms  his  likes  and  dislikes  accordingly.  Now  the  results  of 
his  daily  living  must  be  visible,  personal,  immediate,  if  he 
is  to  grow  in  moral  perception. 

Look  to  the  moral  capacity  of  the  individual  child  when 
you  discipline  him,  just  as  you  do  to  his  mental  capacity 
when  you  grade  him.  He  must  be  led  from  the  spot  at 
which  you  find  him,  and  cannot  be  forced  to  leap  over  the 
intervening  space  by  the  whip  of  discipline.  Even  if  fear 
forces 'him  to  cover  the  ground,  he  will  backslide,  for  there 
is  no  sure  foundation  beneath  his  feet. 

Imitation  and  suggestion  are  the  avenues  of  approach; 
commands,  when  these  fail.  Much  of  the  disorder  and  un- 
rest in  the  classroom  is  due  to  the  teacher's  instability, 
unevenness,  and  unsteady  hand.  The  demands  made  of 
little  children  must  be  steady,  invariable,  and  progressive, 


252   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

that  by  much  repetition  the  children  may  acquire  funda- 
mental and  habitual  responses.  Children  have  learned  to 
read  and  write  by  repetition ;  by  the  same  process  they 
must  learn  the  personal  habits  that  constitute  morality. 

Children  have  little  morality  so-called.  They  are  as  in- 
different to  the  social  sins  as  they  are  to  offenses  against 
language  forms.  The  only  difference  is  that  we  recognize 
the  latter  and  proceed  to  awaken  a  language  conscience 
through  an  appeal  to  the  sensitive  ear.  We  must  recognize 
the  former  and  awaken  a  moral  conscience  by  a  persistent 
appeal  to  the  heart  and  mind  of  the  child. 

The  man  who  told  his  boy  that  at  10  A.M.  the  following 
Wednesday  he  would  give  him  a  sound  whipping  for  some 
offense  committed  was  extreme,  but  he  offers  a  suggestion. 
Children  cannot  be  corrected  with  effect  when  their  whole 
body  is  vibrating  with  anger  and  the  motor  impulses  are 
necessarily  too  strong  for  resistance.  That  intensity  of  feel- 
ing must  be  given  time  to  spend  itself  and  a  normal  func- 
tioning be  resumed,  if  reason  and  kindliness  are  to  be 
substituted  as  motives.  Many  a  kicking,  screaming  child, 
allowed  time  to  go  apart,  to  wash  his  face,  to  sit  alone 
awhile,  will  return  docile  and  open  to  conviction.  Healthy  - 
mindedness  must  be  allowed  to  assert  itself  before  correc- 
tion or  punishment  is  put  in  force.  Emotion  lies  close  to 
the  will,  and  the  child  must  be  led,  by  love  and  suggestion, 
to  the  development  of  standards  of  choice  which  reason  can 
formally  support  and  the  will  execute. 

It  is  necessary  that  a  teacher  who  would  understand  her 
children  should  follow  them  to  the  playground  and  there 
study  their  temperamental  reactions.  She  will  get  insight 
that  the  classroom  will  never  afford.  On  the  playground 
the  friendships  which  are  the  sources  of  temptation  become 
apparent.  Perhaps  two  children  with  exactly  the  same  faults 


DISCIPLINE  253 

to  overcome  have  been  sitting  side  by  side  in  school,  each 
fortifying  the  other  in  weakness.  A  change  of  position  in 
school  hours  is  often  the  ounce  of  prevention  that  brings  a 
pound  of  cure.  Again,  certain  children  with  individual 
peculiarities  antagonize  one  another.  Incompatibility  of 
temper  exists  between  certain  natures,  and  persists,  do  what 
you  will.  One  cannot  expect  a  child  to  come  to  his  first 
experiences  with  such  incompatibility,  steeled  in  self-control. 
He  should  not  be  made  conscious  of  these  differences  in 
temperament,  but  the  wise  teacher  will  not  leave  unneces- 
sary sources  of  irritation  in  the  way  of  little  children,  any 
more  than  she  will  wear  a  pebble  in  her  own  shoe.  The 
child's  heart  is  stocked  with  love,  joy,  helpfulness,  faith, 
wonder,  fear,  anger,  and  love  of  power.  These  instinctive 
reactions,  so  evident  on  the  playground,  should  form  the 
basis  of  discipline  and  control,  —  each  in  its  due  proportion, 
for  the  task  of  education  is  to  assist  and  patiently  wait  for 
natural  development. 

The  formality  of  the  average  classroom  encourages  dis- 
obedience. The  teacher  who  overburdens  the  children  with 
rules  and  regulations  invites  rebellion.  A  natural  impulse 
toward  order  is  frequently  inhibited  by  too  much  prescrip- 
tion. Some  well-meaning  teachers,  by  too  much  negative 
suggestion,  call  out  a  new  list  of  juvenile  offenses  every 
day.  There  is  a  strain  of  perversity  in  human  nature  which, 
if  provoked,  swells  into  obstinacy  and  armed  resistance. 
Beware  that  you  have  your  class  with  you  and  not  against 
you,  for  children  catch  the  mood  of  their  companions  and 
are  very  versatile  in  their  ways  of  signifying  it. 

Social  cooperation  and  hygienic  living  will  do  more  to 
provoke  moral  energy  than  all  the  punishment  that  can 
be  devised.  But  social  cooperation  means  a  wholesome 
emotional  response,  not  silence  and  constant  repression. 


254   PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

Emotional  response  is  as  necessary  to  moral  growth  as  the 
circulation  of  the  blood  is  to  physical  growth.  To  secure 
this  wholesome  emotional  response,  however,  some  changes 
must  be  made  in  the  school  routine.  First,  we  must  put  an 
end  to  the  nervous  competition  and  struggle  for  existence, 
which  begins  even  with  the  babies,  and  which  develops  in- 
sistent selfishness.  For  instance,  it  means  doing  away  with 
spelling  lessons  beyond  the  children's  capacity,  which  lead 
to  the  first  successful  misrepresentations,  to  untruth  and 
aggressive  selfhood.  Wit  and  shrewdness  count  for  success 
in  the  struggle  for  life.  In  the  average  classroom,  with  its 
system  of  rules  and  tests  of  knowledge,  the  struggle  for 
existence  is  as  keen  as  in  the  animal  world.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  the  shrewdness  and  mother  wit  of  childhood  step 
in  to  win  success  at  the  expense  of  fair  play.  Neither  in 
the  animal  nor  in  the  child  is  there  conscious  morality ; 
survival  of  the  fittest  is  the  watchword,  and  the  animal 
steals  the  coveted  bone  as  naturally  as  the  child  looks  on 
his  neighbor's  paper.  Children,  by  the  severity  of  the  re- 
quirements in  school,  are  put  into  temptation  before  they 
have  been  taught  to  discriminate  between  methods,  or  have 
established  an  ethical  relation  between  means  and  ends. 
What  wonder  that  they  use  the  most  expeditious  way. 

Why  should  we  expect  such  sensitive  moral  choice  with- 
out the  long  experiences  out  of  which  choice  is  born  ?  Is 
choice  in  form  and  color  so  evident  ?  Go  into  the  homes  of 
the  untutored  and  look  at  the  combinations  of  color.  Their 
eyes  are  not  offended  by  them ;  their  choice  is  made  with- 
out experience  to  guide  them.  Follow  the  American  public 
in  its  choice  of  Christmas  presents,  and  draw  your  own 
conclusions.  Why  should  we  delude  ourselves  into  think- 
ing that  moral  choice  comes  ready-made  any  more  than 
standards  of  beauty  in  color  and  form  ? 


DISCIPLINE  255 

One  more  suggestion,  simple  but  often  neglected :  much 
punishment  would  be  avoided  in  the  primary  school  if 
teachers  were  more  sensitive  to  the  signs  of  approaching 
disease.  Mumps,  for  instance,  disfigures  a  child's  behavior 
long  before  it  does  his  face. 

There  is  a  psychological  attitude  toward  the  problems 
of  discipline  which  will  be  a  comfort  as  well  as  a  service 
to  the  teacher.  It  will  make  her  point  of  view  impersonal 
and  interpretative.  It  will  induce  less  restraint  and  provoke 
more  freedom,  for  discipline  that  depends  upon  desks  that 
are  screwed  to  the  floor,  and  an  orderly  arrangement  of 
chairs,  does  not  promote  moral  health. 

Children  work  with  their  whole  bodies  and  should  be 
encouraged  to  take  easy,  natural  positions,  for  the  more 
mobile  their  bodies,  the  greater  their  power  of  absorption 
and  expression.  The  atmosphere  of  a  classroom,  however, 
is  a  subtle  thing  and  depends  largely  upon  the  tempera- 
ment of  the  teacher.  Even  in  the  most  modern  kinder- 
garten, where  there  are  tables  and  chairs  and  plenty  of 
space  and  sunshine,  one  may  see  the  most  pitifully  ortho- 
dox behavior.  The  great  teacher  is  superior  to  her  equip- 
ment and  projects  her  spirit  into  the  conduct  of  her  room. 
She  knows  how  to  establish  a  working  attitude  which  will 
awaken  spontaneous  attack  and  keep  every  child  occupied 
to  his  fullest  capacity. 

The  word  "  discipline "  should  be  construed  to  mean 
"nurture";  that  is,  the  care  and  sustenance  necessary  to 
physical,  moral,  and  mental  growth.  Such  a  conception  of 
discipline  would  allow  the  children  a  natural,  fearless  ex- 
pression of  body  and  mind.  It  would  establish  a  homelike 
atmosphere  in  our  schools,  which  would  result  in  definite 
benefit  to  both  teacher  and  pupil.  The  average  teacher 
needs  a  freer  environment  to  persuade  her  to  relax,  and 


256      PEDAGOGY  OF  THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL 

when  architects  and  building  committees  use  more  caurage 
and  ingenuity  in  the  construction  of  our  school  buildings, 
we  shall  have  less  difficulty  with  discipline. 

In  conclusion,  then,  the  moral  life  of  children  hinges  upon 
the  subtle  influences  of  daily  living.  The  good  cheer,  the 
unselfishness,  and  the  general  moral  tone  of  the  home  and 
the  school  slowly  and  certainly  build  up  the  moral  fiber  of 
childhood.  The  child's  standards  of  right  and  wrong  are 
not  formed  to-morrow,  but  yesterday  and  to-day,  out  of 
the  joys,  sorrows,  duties,  sacrifices,  and  companionships 
of  daily  living.  Social  contact  builds  up  a  sense  of  honor 
and  a  legitimate  pride  which  all  the  formal  ethics  in  the 
world  cannot  instill. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION 

Following  is  a  passage  chosen  from  Pestalozzi's  greatest 
book,  "  Leonard  and  Gertrude."  Arner,  the  magistrate  of 
Bonnal,  in  company  with  the  Lieutenant,  is  standing  on  a 
high  mountain,  from  which  he  views  his  domain. 

'  The  placid  Itte  which  flowed  at  their  feet  was  shim- 
mering in  the  purest  silvery  light;  the  sun  was  sinking, 
and  the  liquid  mirror  of  the  sinuous  stream  glittered  from 
the  village  of  Bonnal  far  out  to  the  end  of  the  blue  moun- 
tains, which,  like  a  great  curtain,  shut  off  Arner's  land 
from  the  world  beyond.  For  a  while  Arner  contemplated 
the  scene  in  silence,  and  then  abruptly  said,  '  Ah,  man- 
kind is  so  ugly,  and  no  matter  what  we  may  do  for  men 
we  can  never  bring  it  to  pass  that  they  will  ever  be  beauti- 
ful as  is  this  valley ' ;  and  the  spectacle  of  the  valley  in  the 
sunset  was  indeed  a  glorious  one.  '  But  that  is  not  true,' 
objected  the  Lieutenant ;  and  as  he  spoke  there  appeared, 
at  the  base  of  the  rock  on  which  they  stood,  a  shepherd 
youth  driving  before  him  a  poor,  lean  goat.  He  stopped 
still  at  their  feet  and  looked  off  toward  the  setting  sun, 
leaned  upon  his  crook,  and  sang  an  evening  song.  He 
was  the  very  image  of  beauty,  and  mountain  and  valley, 

257 


258        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

the  stream  and  the  sunset,  vanished  before  their  eyes,  for 
now  they  saw  only  this  ragged  shepherd  boy,  and  Arner 
said,  '  I  was  wrong.  The  beauty  of  man  is  the  highest 
beauty  on  earth.' " 

This  passage,  which  is  even  more  beautiful  in  the  original 
German,  transports  "us  into  Switzerland,  gives  us  at  once  a 
glimpse  into  the  poetic  and  perhaps  somewhat  sentimental 
soul  of  its  author,  and  strikes  the  keynote  of  his  character. 
When  Arner  says,  in  the  presence  of  the  sunset  and  the 
mountains,  that  there  is  nothing  nobler  in  this  world  than 
man,  he  is  speaking  for  Pestalozzi. 

In  one  of  his  letters  Pestalozzi  himself  says,  "  I  looked 
with  admiration  from  the  height  of  Gurnigel  upon  the 
immense  valley  with  its  mountain  border,  and  yet  at  that 
very  moment  thought  more  of  the  badly  instructed  people 
it  contained  than  of  the  beautiful  scenery.  I  could  not, 
nor  would  I,  live  without  accomplishing  my  aim." 

This  is  more  than  mere  emotional  vaporizing,  for  the 
whole  life  of  Pestalozzi  bears  out  his  words.  He  had  an 
enthusiasm  for  humanity,  and  he  lived  out  his  ideas.  He 
simply  could  not  hold  his  instinct  of  brotherhood  in  check, 
and  herein  lies  his  genius.  If  genius  is  insanity,  we  shall 
have  to  express  it  this  way :  he  was  a  monomaniac  domi- 
nated and  swayed  by  one  impulse,  —  love  for  his  fellow 
man  ;  he  had  one  fixed  idea,  —  the  regeneration  of  human- 
ity ;  and  if  it  was  a  case  of  delusional  insanity,  he  had  one 
persistent  delusion,  —  a  faith  in  the  educability  of  mankind. 

Indeed,  during  his  lifetime  people  more  than  once 
doubted  his  sanity,  and  predicted  that  he  would  end  his 
days  in  a  madhouse.  Others  who  were  more  charitable 
explained  that  he  engaged  in  the  menial  trade  of  school- 
master because  he  had  fallen  into  poverty.  At  any  rate, 
before  he  died,  even  such  conservatives  as  kings  and 


PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION        259 

princes  recognized  something  of  the  sanity  of  the  great 
ideas  that  were  announced  by  this  peculiar-looking,  pecu- 
liar-acting Swiss  schoolmaster,  with  that  strange-sounding 
Italian  name,  and  to-day  almost  all  the  world  is  ready  to 
assent  to  the  epitaph  inscribed  above  his  tomb: 

Here  lies  Heinrich  Pestalozzi 
Born  in  Zurich  on  the  12th  of  January,  1746 
Died  in  Brugg  on  the  17th  of  February,  1827 

Savior  of  the  poor  at  Neuhof 
Preacher  to  the  people  in  "Leonard  and  Gertrude" 

Father  of  the  fatherless  in  Stanz 
Founder  of  the  new  elementary  school  at  Burgdorf 

and  Miinchenbuchsee 
Educator  of  humanity  in  Yverdon 

Man,  Christian,  Citizen. 

Everything  for  others,  nothing  for  himself. 

Blessings  be  upon  his  name. 

This  epitaph  recalls  the  landmarks  of  a  long,  active  career 
of  eighty-one  years.  Pestalozzi  lived  in  an  age  that  liter- 
ally teemed  with  great  men,  ideas,  and  events.  In  America 
the  struggle  for  individual  freedom  was  largely  political 
and  culminated  in  a  revolutionary  war.  It  expressed  itself 
in  the  self-evident  phrases  of  Rousseau's  philosophy,  a 
philosophy  destined  to  be  the  mouthpiece  of  another  revo- 
lution still  more  comprehensive.  In  Germany  there  was 
a  peculiar  little  man,  about  as  large  as  Pestalozzi,  by  name 
Immanuel  Kant,  who  shed  tears  of  joy  over  these  two 
revolutions,  —  the  one  in  Paris,  the  other  across  the  sea, 
—  and  constructed  a  philosophy  which  itself  was  pro- 
foundly revolutionary.  This  philosophy,  if  it  did  anything, 
emphasized  the  dignity  of  the  individual  and  the  possibili- 
ties of  his  creative  self-activity.  Fichte,  the  earliest  ex- 
ponent of  Kantianism,  and  personal  friend  of  Pestalozzi, 
declared  that  Kant's  philosophy  coincided  exactly  with  the 


260        THE  CONSEKVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

fundamental  principles  laid  down  in  "Leonard  and  Ger- 
trude." There  was  much  sympathy  among  the  great  men 
of  this  period  of  Aufklarung. 

But,  marked  as  was  the  intellectual  activity  in  Germany, 
the  awakening  in  Switzerland  during  the  last  half  of  the 
eighteenth  century  was,  if  anything,  more  brilliant.  Tre- 
mendous powers  were  concentrated  on  Swiss  soil  during 
.that  period.  Rousseau,  a  native  of  Geneva,  after  his 
"  Emile  "  had  been  publicly  burned  by  the  hangman,  fled 
to  the  Swiss  Alps.  Voltaire  also  found  a  retreat  there. 
Edward  Gibbon  completed  his  great  history  in  Lausanne. 
Madame  de  Stael  held  an  intellectual  court  in  a  castle  on  a 
Swiss  lake.  Kleist,  the  Swiss  literary  scholar,  could  write, 
in  1752,  "Whereas  in  great  Berlin  there  are  not  more  than 
three  or  four  men  of  taste  and  genius,  in  little  Zurich  there 
are  twenty  or  thirty  " ;  and  Zurich,  be  it  remembered,  was 
Pestalozzi's  birthplace  and  college  town.  The  doctrine  of 
the  simple  life,  and  the  Wolffian  philosophy,  which  preached 
a  return  to  nature,  were  in  special  favor  at  Zurich,  and 
found  ardent  disciples  at  the  university.  Breitinger  and 
Bodmer,  the  advocate  of  republican  liberalism,  were  two 
inspiring  teachers,  and  gathered  about  them  groups  of 
eager  students,  Pestalozzi  among  others.  Sometimes  they 
would  all  assemble  as  a  revolutionary  organization  called 
the  Helvetic  society. 

In  this  feverish,  Utopian  atmosphere  Pestalozzi  lived  out 
his  adolescence.  It  must  have  been  a  congenial  atmosphere 
for  his  ardent  soul.  Even  as  a  lad  he  had  shown  a  preco- 
cious reforming  instinct.  When  a  mere  boy  he  was  im- 
pressed by  the  good  deeds  of  his  grandfather,  the  village 
pastor,  and  announced,  "  When  I  am  big,  I  am  going  to  be 
a  pastor  too,  and  side  with  the  peasants."  And  so  at  the 
university  he  studied  theology,  but  fortunately  broke  down 


PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION        261 

in  the  middle  of  his  trial  sermon.  He  then  decided  in  favor 
of  law,  promising  to  help  the  peasants  in  the  court,  but 
this  also  did  not  suit.  Next  he  turned  to  the  Jeffersonian 
ideal  of  agriculture,  hoping  to  show  what  the  sunken  peas- 
ants might  do  for  themselves  in  the  noble  art  of  farming ; 
but  as  a  practical  agriculturalist  he  only  registered  another 
failure.  His  friend  Schinz  has  an  explanation :  "who  in  his 
thought  at  the  stars  stumbles  into  a  quagmire  at  his  feet, 
who  can  neither  talk  to  nor  act  with  any  of  his  fellow  crea- 
tures without  offending  them  with  his  unpleasant  exterior 
and  his  uncouth,  disorderly  ways,  —  how  can  such  a  man 
ever  hope  to  be  able  to  get  on  in  actual  life."  As  it  was, 
Pestalozzi  wrote  in  his  diary,  in  1775,  "The  dream  of  my 
life  —  the  hope  of  making  my  house  the  center  of  a  sphere 
of  benevolent  activity  —  was  gone." 

But  in  reality  this  dream  was  just  about  to  be  realized, 
for  no  sooner  had  his  agricultural  project  fallen  flat  than 
he  converted  the  roof  above  his  head  into  a  shelter  for 
neglected  children,  thus  finding,  for  the  first  time,  adequate 
expression  for  his  philanthropic  passion.  He  started  at 
Neuhof  the  first  industrial  pauper  school  known  in  history. 

But  how  explain  this  strange,  unheard-of  notion  of  open- 
ing the  door  of  your  own  home  and  gathering  in  all  the 
vagabonds  from  the  highways  ?  Why  under  the  sun  should 
a  bankrupt  farmer  who  cannot  keep  himself  out  of  poverty 
presume  to  take  care  of  other  paupers  ?  This  very  proper 
question  received  very  especial  emphasis  from  the  rela- 
tives, the  neighbors,  and  the  prudent  generally.  Even 
to-day  it  is  an  eminently  pertinent  question  for  the  stu- 
dent of  Pestalozzi,  and  De  Guimps  is  right  in  seeking  the 
answer  in  the  fact  that  four  years  before  this  a  son  had 
been  born  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pestalozzi.  They  shed  many 
tears  of  joy  at  the  event,  and  in  his  diary  the  father  makes 


262        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

this  entry :  "  Thou  God  who  hast  made  me  the  father  of 
an  immortal  soul  .  .  .  send  me  Thy  spirit  from  on  high. 
Give  me  now  new  strength,  create  in  me  a  new  heart, 
fresh  zeal,  oh,  my  son,  my  son ! " 

The  experience  of  parenthood  worked  a  revolution  in 
Pestalozzi's  thinking,  leading  him  to  realize  the  significance 
of  childhood  for  the  individual  and  society.  In  the  light 
of  that  new  realization  the  opening  of  the  pauper  school 
at  Neuhof  is  comprehensible.  Though  the  undertaking  out- 
wardly failed,  it  was  in  reality  a  deep  success.  After  five 
years'  association  with  the  children,  Pestalozzi  said:  "I  knew 
the  people  as  no  one  else  did,  and  I  never  was  more  pro- 
foundly impressed  by  the  fundamental  truth  on  which  I  had 
based  my  efforts  than  when  I  saw  that  I  had  failed.  I  have 
proved  that  children,  after  having  lost  health,  strength, 
and  courage  in  a  life  of  idleness  and  mendacity,  have,  when 
once  set  to  regular  work,  quickly  recovered  their  strength 
and  spirits  and  grown  rapidly.  I  have  found  that  even  the 
most  depraved  of  them  are  touched  by  kindness." 

Neuhof  must  be  considered  the  most  Pestalozzian  insti- 
tution he  ever  managed.  Here  he  could  be  as  he  wanted 
to  be,  a  father  to  his  children.  He  clothed  them,  fed  them, 
and  treated  them  in  every  way  as  his  own.  There  were  some 
fifty  of  them  in  the  family,  ranging  from  four  to  nineteen 
years  of  age.  De  Guimps's  description  follows :  "  They  were 
always  with  him,  sharing  in  the  work  of  the  field  and  of  the 
house,  and  in  bad  weather  spinning  cotton  in  a  large  shed. 
Very  little  time  was  given  to  actual  lessons.  Indeed,  the 
children  were  often  taught  while  working  with  their  hands, 
Pestalozzi  being  in  no  hurry  to  teach  them  to  read  and 
write,  convinced  as  he  was  that  this  is  only  useful  for  those 
who  have  learned  to  talk.  He  gave  them  constant  prac- 
tice in  conversation,  however,  on  subjects  taken  from  their 


PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION        263 

everyday  life,  and  made  them  repeat  passages  from  the 
Bible  until  they  knew  them  by  heart."  It  must  have  been 
a  very  unconventional  school,  headed  as  it  was  by  a  school- 
master so  unconventional  that  he  slighted  the  three  R's  and 
went  about  chewing  the  end  of  his  necktie. 

Bankruptcy  and  derision  could  not  shake  his  faith.  The 
very  year  of  his  failure  he  began  to  publish  his  convictions 
on  the  subject  of  education.  "Evening  Hours  of  a  Hermit" 
and  "  Leonard  and  Gertrude "  appeared  in  close  succes- 
sion. Zschokke  says  of  the  latter, "  Everything  that  he  after- 
wards wrote — yes,  his  whole  life — was  but  the  expounding 
and  explaining  of  this  one  book."  And  indeed,  Pestalozzi, 
although  he  had  fifty  years  yet  to  live,  never  got  far  beyond 
the  principles  embodied  in  that  great,  true  novel.  It  will 
therefore  be  unnecessary  for  us  to  trace  a  course  of  pro- 
gressive development  throughout  his  long  career,  for  there 
was  none.  He  held  fast  to  the  fundamental  conceptions 
of  his  early  manhood. 

And  what  were  these  fundamental  conceptions?  They 
are  not,  as  a  rule,  satisfactorily  stated,  for  Pestalozzi  has 
been  interpreted  altogether  too  much  in  the  terms  of  our 
own  conventional  conceptions  of  education  and  of  the  sup- 
posed influence  he  has  had  on  the  course  of  its  develop- 
ment. Ordinarily  it  is  believed  that  Pestalozzi  advocated 
love  between  master  and  pupil,  observance  of  the  order  of 
nature  in  teaching,  sense  perception  as  the  basis  of  instruc- 
tion, and  popular  education.  But  all  of  these  things,  so  far 
as  they  mean  anything,  are  bound  up  in  and  subordinate 
to  one  idea,  —  the  idea  that  was  so  unequivocally  expressed 
in  the  aphorisms  of  "Evening  Hours  of  a  Hermit,"  and 
which  is  also  the  underlying  conception  of  "Leonard  and 
Gertrude."  That  one  supreme  idea  is  Pestalozzi's  idea  of 
the  home. 


264        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

We  have  his  own  words :  "A  man's  domestic  relations 
are  the  first  and  most  important  of  his  nature.  .  .  .  The 
home  is  the  true  basis  of  the  education  of  humanity." 

These  two  aphorisms,  taken  from  his  first  educational 
treatise,  were  never  contradicted,  modified,  or  retracted  by 
Pestalozzi.  They  represent  the  true  explaining  principle  of 
all  his  subsequent  teaching.  The  very  titles  of  his  writings 
furnish  evidence  of  this : 

1.  "The  Instruction  of  Children  in  the  Home"  (an  early 
unpublished  writing). 

2.  "  Christopher  and  Elisa,"  in  which  a  father  and  mother 
discuss  chapters  from  "  Leonard  and  Gertrude  "  before  their 
son  Fritz. 

3.  "  The  Good  Jacob,  how  he  teaches  his  Son,"  an  article 
in  the  Schweizerblatt,  a  journal  in  which  was  discussed  every- 
thing, great  or  small,  which  was  good  for  domestic  use. 

4.  "  How  Gertrude  teaches  her  Children,"  an  attempt  to 
give  mothers  a  guide  so  that  they  may  teach  their  children 
themselves. 

5.  "  The  Natural  Schoolmaster,"  or  a  practical  guide  for 
the  elementary  instruction  of  children  in  all  preliminary 
knowledge  up  to  their  sixth  year. 

6.  "A  Book  for  Mothers,"  or  a  guide  for  mothers,  en- 
abling them  to  teach  their  children  to  observe  and  to  talk. 

7.  The  address  of  Pjestalozzi  to  the  British  public,  solic- 
iting them  to  aid,  by  subscription,  his  plan  of  preparing 
schoolmasters  and  schoolmistresses  for  the  people,  that  man- 
kind may  in  time  receive  the  first  principles  of  intellectual 
instruction  from  their  mothers  (1818). 

8.  Pestalozzi's  very  last  speech,  made  a  few  months  be- 
fore his  death,  bore   this  title,  "  The  Simplest  Methods 
whereby  to  educate  a  Child  at  Home  from  the  Cradle  to 
its  Sixth  Year." 


PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION        265 

9.  But,  above  all,  should  be  mentioned  his  "  My  First 
Book  for  the  People,  Leonard  and  Gertrude,"  which,  if  it  is 
anything,  is  an  encomium  of  the  home. 

Gertrude  is  his  ideal  teacher.  She  is,  he  says,  the  woman 
who  makes  her  house  a  temple  of  the  living  God,  and  wins 
heaven  for  her  husband  and  her  children.  Pestalozzi  is 
always  ready  to  pay  a  tribute  to  the  mothers,  his  own 
genius  being  distinctly  feminine.  There  was  in  him,  says 
Niederer,  as  much  woman  as  man. 

"  The  mother,"  says  Pestalozzi,  "  is  qualified  by  the 
Creator  himself  to  become  the  principal  agent  in  the  de- 
velopment of  her  child." 

The  revolutionary  ideas  on  home  education  which  Pesta- 
lozzi cherished  are  still  further  expressed  in  the  following 
quotations  from  his  speeches  and  writings : 

"And  thus  the  central  and  essential  principle  of  educa- 
tion is  not  teaching,  but  love,  which  alone  is  an  eternal 
emanation  of  the  divinity  within  us." 

"The  only  sure  foundation  upon  which  we  must  build 
for  institutions  for  popular  education,  national  culture,  and 
the  education  of  the  poor  is  the  parental  heart,  which,  by 
means  of  the  innocence,  truth,  power,  and  purity  of  its  love, 
kindles  in  the  child  the  belief  in  love."  (Address  at  his 
seventy-third  birthday.) 

"The  parent's  teaching  is  the  kernel  of  wisdom,  and  the 
schoolmaster's  business  is  only  to  make  a  husk  over  it." 

"Forget,  mothers,  if  it  is  necessary,  all  other  work,  all 
other  attachment,  in  order  to  penetrate  into  the  purity  and 
the  sacredness  of  your  maternal  vocation." 

"Good  mothers,  let  it  not  be  unjustly  said  any  longer 
that  you  have  not  understanding  and  strength  for  what  in 
your  circumstances  is  your  highest  and  holiest  duty.  If  you 
once  go  so  far  as  to  weep  in  the  stillness  of  your  chambers 


266        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

because  the  good  Gertrude  did  more  for  her  children  than 
you  have  hitherto  done  for  yours,  I  am  sure  that  you  will 
then  try  whether  it  be  not  possible  to  do  what  she  did,  and 
it  is  when  you  are  arrived  at  this  point  that  I  wish  to  offer 
you  my  elementary  books." 

"  Mothers,  show  at  last,  after  these  centuries,  the  injustice 
that  mankind  has  done  you  in  seizing  from  your  hands  the 
first  instruction  of  your  children." 

The  last  is  very  characteristic.  The  staple  notion  that 
Froebel  continued  and  supplemented  the  work  of  Pestalozzi 
is  somewhat  misleading.  Though  Froebel  can  be  quoted  to 
show  that  he  believed  primarily  in  home  education,  in  so 
far  as  the  kindergarten  takes  the  children  away  from  their 
mothers  it  is  the  very  abrogation  of  Pestalozzi's  ideal. 

A  father  visiting  the  Burgdorf  institute  made  this  re- 
mark, "Why,  these  exercises  are  so  simple  that  my  wife 
and  I  could  give  them  at  home."  "  The  very  thing  you 
ought  to  do,"  was  Pestalozzi's  quick  reply.  In  another 
instance  a  visitor  remarked,  "  Why,  this  is  not  a  school, 
but  a  family."  "That  is  the  greatest  praise  you  can  give 
me,"  said  Pestalozzi. 

In  a  discourse  delivered  on  the  occasion  of  his  seventy- 
second  birthday  he  proposes  to  use  the  money  he  hopes  to 
get  from  the  republication  of  his  works  to  continue  experi- 
ments in  pursuit  of  ever  simpler  means  for  elementary 
teaching  in  the  home.  Elsewhere  he  says :  "  For  a  half  cen- 
tury I  have  been  seeking  with  unwearying  activity  to  sim- 
plify the  elementary  instruction  of  the  people.  I  desired 
nothing  else,  but  merely  sought  to  render  the  ordinary 
means  of  instruction  so  simple  as  to  permit  of  their  being 
employed  in  every  family."  This  is  why  he  was  so  deter- 
mined to  simplify,  to  mechanize,  to  psychologize  education. 
He  used  to  say  that  his  method  of  AnscTiauung  (sense 


PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION        267 

perception)  was  not  the  end  to  which  he  devoted  his  life, 
but  simply  one  of  the  special  means  by  which  he  hoped 
to  reach  it. 

From  Stanz  he  writes,  "  My  aim  was  so  to  simplify  the 
means  of  instruction  that  it  should  be  quite  possible  for 
even  the  most  ordinary  person  to  teach  his  children  himself ; 
thus  schools  would  gradually  almost  cease  to  be  necessary 
so  far  as  the  first  elements  are  concerned." 

Very  interesting  is  a  passage  from  a  letter  in  which  he 
contrasts  himself  with  the  German  Rochow :  "  I  wish  to 
elevate  the  people  without  special  establishments,  through 
the  fathers  and  mothers  whom  I  seek  to  enlighten,  and  he 
wishes  to  influence  them  through  the  schools.  Both  means 
are  good,  but  the  first  is  the  only  possible  one  for  me." 

Yes,  he  goes  so  far  as  to  say,  "  the  schools  can  never 
become  a  substitute  for  domestic  education.  Only  as  ad- 
juncts and  stop-gaps  can  they  hope  to  serve  the  world." 
In  his  Utopian  dreams  Pestalozzi  undoubtedly  pictured  a 
society  in  which  all  primary-school  education  was  carried 
on  in  the  homes. 

We  have  dwelt  at  length  on  Pestalozzi's  idea  of  the  home 
because  we  must  single  out  that  one  idea  and  make  it  cen- 
tral if  we  are  to  have  an  adequate  appreciation  of  Pestalozzi's 
purpose  and  of  his  message.  The  home  is  the  center  toward 
which  all  his  thoughts  on  education  converged.  Gertrude 
is  the  generic  mother,  the  Wohnstube  the  generic  home  on 
which  the  regeneration  of  society  depends.  Be  it  never  for- 
gotten that  Pestalozzi's  aim  was  the  regeneration  of  society. 
He  was  something  more  than  an  educationist.  Strong  as 
was  the  teaching  impulse  in  him,  the  social-reform  instinct 
was  more  fundamental.  Liebes  Volk,  ich  will  dir  aufhelfen  ! 
It  was  that  instinct  which  turned  him  from  all  palliatives  to 
the  home.  Vaterhaus,  du  Sehule  der  Sitten  und  des  Staates  ! 


268        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

Misawa  has  neatly  stated  the  difference  between  Pestalozzi 
and  Rousseau  in  the  following  words :  "  Not  go  back  to  na- 
ture, but  go  back  to  the  home.  Not  to  build  a  new  society 
on  the  absolutely  free,  independent,  natural  man,  but  on 
the  work-loving,  man-loving,  God-loving,  unsophistically 
developed  social  man,  or  rather  home  man." 

Pestalozzi's  pedagogy  is  deeply  social.  He  became  an 
educational  reformer  only  because  he  was  a  social  reformer. 
Natorp,  one  of  the  leading  exponents  of  social  pedagogy  in 
Germany,  says,  "  It  is  Pestalozzi's  distinction  to  have  put 
back  the  question  of  education  on  a  social  basis,  and  the 
social  question  back  on  the  basis  of  human  education." 
Ziegler  says,  "  The  true  greatness  of  Pestalozzi  lies  in  the 
social  spirit  of  his  pedagogy,  in  the  realization  of  the  close 
relation  of  the  social  problem  with  the  problem  of  true 
human  development,  in  the  idea  of  rescuing  fallen  humanity 
from  destruction  through  the  awakening  and  strengthen- 
ing of  its  best  human  powers,  helping  it  through  education 
to  self-help." 

After  all,  is  Pestalozzi  anything  more  than  a  fascinating 
historical  character,  a  fortunate  fanatic  ?  Have  time  and 
change  canceled  his  teachings,  or  do  they  possess  a  present 
worth  ?  Is  there  any  reason  for  the  cry,  Back  to  Pestalozzi  ? 
He  has  been  compared  to  the  great  Teacher,  Christ  himself, 
so  it  will  not  be  sacrilegious  to  put  the  question  this  way : 
What  if  Pestalozzi  came  to  Chicago  ? 

Chicago  is  the  greatest  railroad  center  in  the  world,  and 
is  all  that  this  implies;  Pestalozzi  was  two  years  in  his 
grave  before  the  first  railroad  was  finished.  Chicago  is  the 
greatest  meat  center  in  the  world ;  Pestalozzi  knew  only 
shepherd's  crooks  and  little  flocks.  Chicago  is  a  city  of 
factories  and  tenement  houses  ;  "  Leonard  and  Gertrude  " 
suggests  a  spinning  wheel  and  a  peasant's  cottage  with  vines 


PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION        269 

growing  over  the  door.  "Agriculture  was  the  reigning  task 
of  the  eighteenth  century."  Two  thirds  of  Pestalozzi's  life 
fell  in  that  century ;  he  had  witnessed  and  participated  in 
the  agrarian  French  revolution ;  but  what  did  he  know 
of  that  great  industrial  revolution  wrought  by  steam  and 
electricity, —  a  revolution  which  has  had  vastly  more  to  do 
with  determining  the  structure  of  present-day  society  and 
has  added  such  baffling  complexities  to  the  social  problem? 
Pestalozzi  proposed  to  solve  the  social  problem,  so  we  are 
putting  a  fair  question  when  we  ask,  What  did  he  know  of 
the  industrial  revolution  ? 

We  do  not  have  all  the  data  for  the  complete  answer  to 
this  question,  but  have  gathered  some  material  from  his  two 
latest  writings  on  social  and  industrial  conditions.  From 
these  discussions,  which  were  written  when  he  was  an  octo- 
genarian, it  appears  that  he  did  have  some  vague  appre- 
hension of  what  was  going  on,  but  no  clear  grasp  of  the 
tendencies  and  no  prophecy  of  what  was  to  be.  He  confesses 
that  things  are  not  as  they  were  in  the  good  old  days  when 
the  very  rich  and  the  very  poor  were  few,  and  when  sub- 
stantial economic  equality  reigned.  Each  man  then  had  his 
trade  and  his  plot  of  land  and  his  cottage ;  the  more  in- 
dustrious he  was,  the  more  he  earned.  But  of  late  Pesta- 
lozzi sees  the  good  old  domestic  virtues  decaying,  finds  less 
simplicity  and  more  selfishness.  He  regrets  that  the  intro- 
duction of  industrial  life  should  cause  such  inequalities  in 
the  distribution  of  wealth,  should  weaken  the  middle  class 
and  increase  the  number  of  the  propertyless. 

But  he  had  no  conception  of  the  great  modern  proletariat. 
His  ideas  remained  rather  old-fashioned,  Poor-Richard-like. 
He  is  not  very  radical  on  questions  of  legislation ;  he  up- 
holds monarchy  and  believes  in  a  benevolent  aristocracy. 
He  thinks  that  most  of  the  inequalities  in  wealth  are 


270        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

inevitable.  The  child  of  the  poor  man  must  be  educated  to 
poverty,  he  says ;  the  rich  man  must  be  taught  charity  and 
unselfishness.  If  the  good  housewife  keeps  the  kitchen 
clean  and  takes  good  care  of  the  children,  if  the  father  will 
be  faithful  at  his  trade  and  not  frequent  the  tavern,  if  the 
pastor  will  not  be  too  theoretical,  and  the  magistrate  honest 
and  kind,  all  will  be  well.  Material  improvements,  while  im- 
portant, are  not  primary ;  human  nature  must  be  inwardly 
elevated.  "So  much  I  early  saw,  that  the  surroundings 
make  the  man ;  but  just  as  early,  that  the  man  makes  the 
surroundings."  And  so  to  the  end  he  retained  his  sublime 
faith  in  education.  He  did  not  realize  the  desperate  power 
and  the  relentless  tendencies  of  the  changing  industrial 
environment.  He  sees  in  the  new  commercial  spirit  —  the 
evil  Zeitgeist,  as  he  calls  it  —  only  a  passing  thing  which 
will  disappear  when  Switzerland  goes  back  to  the  good  old 
domesticity  of  the  good  old  days. 

With  his  limited  knowledge  and  experience  it  was  almost 
impossible  that  Pestalozzi  should  understand  the  industrial 
revolution,  even  though  the  English  manufacturer,  Robert 
Owen,  on  his  visit  to  Yverdon,  may  have  told  him  some- 
thing of  the  state  of  affairs  in  England,  where  the  revo- 
lution was  writing  out  its  meaning  in  tragic  characters. 
Ten  years  before  Pestalozzi  died,  mobs  of  starving  English 
workmen  had  smashed,  in  riot,  the  newly  invented  power 
machines,  and  paraded  through  the  streets  with  a  banner 
that  displayed  this  inscription : 

PRESENT  STATE  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN 

Four  million  people  on  the  point  of  starvation 

Four  million  with  a  bare  subsistence 
One  and  a  half  million  in  straitened  circumstances 

A  half  in  dazzling  luxury 
Our  brothers  in  Ireland  in  a  state  worse 


PESTALOZZI  AND  HOME  EDUCATION        271 

Evidently  the  Pestalozzian  problem  of  poverty  was  not 
local  to  Switzerland.  Do  not  forget  that  as  early  as  1798 
Joseph  Lancaster,  the  English  Quaker,  had  opened  a  free 
school  for  the  instruction  of  poor  children,  and  that  Robert 
Owen,  who  had  a  spirit  of  philanthropy  no  less  admirable 
than  that  of  Pestalozzi  himself,  had  already  established 
the  first  infant  school  in  England.  Robert  Owen,  the  mil- 
lionaire manufacturer,  "the  father  of  English  socialism," 
was  a  direct  product  of  the  industrial  revolution,  and  he 
realized  it.  "  Perish  the  cotton  trade ! "  he  exclaimed,  "per- 
ish the  political  superiority  of  our  country,  rather  than  that 
they  shall  be  upheld  by  the  sacrifice  of  everything  valu- 
able in  Me !  "  He  too  concerned  himself  with  the  problem 
of  poverty,  but  regeneration  by  education  was  not  the  sole 
factor  in  his  remedy.  His  ideal  included  a  reconstruction 
of  the  environment.  Just  as  Pestalozzi,  the  social  reformer, 
was  turning  eighty,  Robert  Owen,  the  socialist,  appeared 
before  the  United  States  Senate  and  stirred  the  life  of  the 
nation  by  his  appeal  for  governmental  support  to  his  grand 
communist  scheme,  his  prairie  farm  of  thirty  thousand  acres 
which  he  was  about  to  organize  in  New  Harmony,  Indiana. 
One  year  before  Pestalozzi  died,  our  Albert  Gallatin  said, 
rt  The  New  Harmony  system  of  education  is  the  best  in  the 
world."  It  claimed  to  be  based  on  Pestalozzian  principles. 
Robert  Owen  was  its  founder ;  William  McClure,  who  had 
met  Pestalozzi  in  Paris,  was  one  of  its  teachers ;  the  other 
teacher  was  Joseph  Neef,  of  Switzerland,  the  author  of  the 
first  American  book  on  pedagogy,  and  the  former  colleague 
of  Pestalozzi. 

New  Harmony,  Indiana,  is  not  very  far  from  Chicago, 
so,  after  all,  we  have  got  back  to  our  starting  point. 
Has  the  present  industrial  age,  typified  in  Chicago,  put  a 
veto  on  Pestalozzi's  fundamental  conceptions  about  home 


272        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

education  ?  Could  he  solve  the  social  problem  without 
knowing  the  social  problem  ?  Ziegler  says,  "A  social  peda- 
gogy !  Pestalozzi  created  such  at  a  time  when  there  was 
not  even  a  social  problem,  or,  better,  when  this  had  not 
risen  above  the  threshold  of  the  consciousness  of  mankind. 
We  are  only  now  beginning  to  understand  the  boldness  of 
his  pedagogical  creation."  Ziegler  implies  that  the  program 
in  "Leonard  and  Gertrude"  can  be  applied  to  Chicago. 
Whether  we  agree  with  him  or  not,  the  Pestalozzian  prob- 
lem of  poverty  still  exists.  The  poor  are  yet  with  us.  We 
have  ten  million  of  them  in  our  country  this  very  day. 
Back  to  Pestalozzi  ?  Whether  or  not  we  go  back  to  all  the 
principles  of  Pestalozzi,  one  thing  is  certain :  if  the  edu- 
cators of  to-day  are,  like  him,  to  have  a  real  share  in  the 
solution  of  the  social  problem,  they  must  be  actuated  by  his 
spirit  of  social  conservation,  and  believe  that  "  there  is  no 
greater  crime  against  God,  man,  and  fatherland,  than  to 
stifle  the  seeds  of  good  in  the  poor." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A   HEALTHY  BODY 

Common  sense  and  Herbert  Spencer  both  say  that  the  first 
requisite  is  to  be  a  good  animal.  This  is,  if  anything,  more 
true  of  the  child  than  of  the  adult,  for  in  childhood  the 
animal  body,  which  is  destined  to  be  the  physiological  house 
and  instrument  of  the  adult  mind,  is  growing,  and  the  growth 
should  be  sound,  lusty,  full.  In  childhood,  health  has  a 
double  value ;  it  furthers  the  fulfillment  of  child  life  and 
promises  a  complete  maturity.  In  still  another  sense  does 
health  always  have  a  double  value.  Our  lives  are  in  the  flesh, 
our  spirits  embodied,  and  therefore  health  beautifies  and 
perfects  not  only  the  body  but  also  the  soul.  The  hygiene 
of  to-day  must  recognize  as  together  what  God  has  united. 

Health  and  education  are  almost  identical  conceptions. 
Society  and  the  school  cannot  do  their  full  duty  until  they 
take  into  account  the  whole  child,  body  as  well  as  mind, 
and  that  in  a  spirit  of  hygienic  solicitude.  The  following 
survey  is  necessarily  very  limited,  but  it  aims  to  be  concrete 
enough  to  give  to  the  primary-school  teacher  an  eye  and  a 
feeling  for  the  most  palpable  phases  of  physical  health. 

The  teeth.  One  of  the  most  important  events  in  the  physi- 
cal development  of  the  little  first-grader  is  the  eruption  of 
the  sixth-year  molar.  So  far  from  being  a  conspicuous,  dra- 
matic event,  it  usually  excites  no  notice.  We  look  into  the 
mouths  of  horses,  but  how  many  parents  and  teachers  ever 
concern  themselves  about  the  child's  first  permanent  molar  ? 
It  does  not  take  a  specialist  to  know  the  simple,  fundamental 

273 


274        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

facts  about  the  hygiene  of  the  teeth,  and  yet  ignorance  is 
the  main  excuse  for  our  neglect.  In  fact,  the  sixth-year 
molar,  appearing  before  the  milk  teeth  are  shed,  is  often 
ignorantly  extracted  as  a  useless  temporary  tooth. 

And  it  is  the  most  important  tooth  in  the  head!  If 
every  tooth  is  a  diamond,  as  an  oriental  proverb  holds, 
then  this  one  is  the  most  precious  of  all.  For  a  half 

dozen  reasons  it 
should  be  most 
carefully  jjro- 
tected:  first,  it 
is  the  first  per- 
manent tooth  to 
appear  (its  biting 
surface,  or  cusp, 
being  formed  at 
birth)  ;  second, 
it  is  the  largest, 
strongest  tooth, 
and  the  one  most 
essential  to  mas- 
tication; third,  it 

©  Sanitol  Educational  Association,  St.  Louis,  Mo.         •        ,  i 

is  the  easiest  to 

FIG.  53.  THE  FIRST  PERMANENT  TEETH  i  p        .-i    •, 

decay;  fourth, it 

(For  explanation  see  text) 

is  the  keystone 

of  the  dental  arch ;  fifth,  its  location  determines  the  align- 
ment and  occlusion  of  the  succeeding  teeth;  sixth,  its 
misposition  may  even  affect  the  shape  of  the  jaw. 

Every  teacher  should  therefore  be  able  to  locate  the 
sixth-year  molar  in  any  child's  mouth.  This  is  simple.  One 
has  but  to  count  from  the  middle,  beginning  with  a  central 
incisor;  the  sixth  tooth  in  order  should  be  the  sixth-year 
molar.  The  accompanying  figure  makes  this  clearer.  It 


A  HEALTHY  BODY  275 

shows  the  condition  and  position  of  the  teeth  at  the  age 
of  five  and  a  half.  The  child  has  lost  the  two  first  incisor 
teeth  and  is  receiving  the  incisor  teeth  of  the  second  set; 
also,  the  sixth-year  molar,  which  is  the  first  permanent 
tooth,  is  being  received  back  of  all  the  first  teeth,  and 
it  is  very  nearly  in  position.  At  this  time  the  crowns  of 
the  cuspid  and  bicuspid  teeth  of  the  second  set  are  being 
formed,  and  absorption  is  starting  in  the  roots  of  the  first 
teeth.  The  crown  of  the  twelfth-year  molar,  which  is  the 
second  molar  of  the  second  set,  is  here  shown  starting  to 
form.  The  figure  pictures  how  the  jaw  enlarges  to  receive 
these  teeth. 

Another  proverb  might  be  cited  to  justify  the  insistence 
on  the  value  of  a  little  detail  like  the  sixth-year  molar: 
"  For  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost ;  for  want  of,"  etc. 
Better  still,  we  can  quote  an  actual  case  of  moral  delin- 
quency, described  by  Dr.  A.  H.  Holmes,  directly  traceable 
to  a  misplaced  sixth-year  molar. 

The  boy  in  question  went  from  bad  to  worse,  and  finally 
reached  the  juvenile  court.  Fortunately  he  was  sent  to  a 
dental  clinic,  where  the  following  diagnosis  was  reported : 
"  On  the  lower  right  side  the  space  between  the  first  per- 
manent molar  and  first  premolar  has  been  partially  closed 
by  the  pushing  forward  of  the  first  permanent  (sixth-year) 
molar.  This  condition  has  led  to  a  partial  impaction  of  the 
second  premolar,  which  is  as  yet  unerupted  and  which  may 
be  a  source  of  peripheral  irritation.  On  the  whole,  the  case 
is,  from  my  point  of  view,  a  typical  one  of  what  I  call 
dentitional  stress,  that  is  to  say,  of  nervous  irritation,  which 
frequently  arises  during  the  period  of  exchange  of  the  per- 
manent for  the  deciduous  teeth." 

The  nervous  irritation  in  this  instance  profoundly  dis- 
turbed the  very  morality  of  the  boy,  and  on  its  removal 


276        THE  CONSEKVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

"  his  whole  nervous  system  seemed  to  express  itself  in  one 
sigh  of  relief."  The  transformation  of  the  boy's  behavior 
was  almost  instantaneous. 

While  such  acute  cases  may  be  somewhat  exceptional, 
defective  teeth  are  almost  universal.  Statistics  show  that 
from  80  per  cent  to  100  per  cent  of  school  children  have 
diseased  teeth,  and  the  proportion  is  greatest  in  the  primary 
grades.  One  investigator  found  that  "of  three  thousand 
Americans  over  twenty-five  years  of  age  only  seven  had  all 
four  sixth-year  molars  in  the  mouth." 

Dr.  George  Cunningham,  director  of  the  free  dental  in- 
stitute (without  forceps)  for  school  children  at  Cambridge, 
England,  found  that  only  2  per  cent  of  the  children  in 
vestigated  had  sound  teeth.  In  round  numbers  one  thou- 
sand out  of  three  thousand  children  "  had  free  pus  in  their 
mouths,  some  of  which  would  be  swallowed  every  time 
food  was  taken,  while  other  portions  of  it,  thrown  out  in 
speaking  or  singing,  would  go  towards  polluting  the  school 
atmosphere  and  lowering  the  vitality  of  both  children  and 
teachers."  The  unclean  mouths  of  children  are  therefore 
responsible  for  some  of  the  odor  and  the  very  pollution  of 
schoolroom  air. 

Some  day,  when  preventive  hygiene  and  the  physical  care 
of  children  have  been  more  fully  realized,  posterity  will  be 
appalled  by  the  conditions  which  now  prevail.  Though  a 
rough  dental  examination  is  included  in  medical  inspec- 
tion, school  dental  clinics  and  children's  dentists  are  almost 
unknown.  The  profession  is  still  consumed  with  the  lucra- 
tive repairing  of  adult  mouths  and  the  annual  installation 
of  millions  of  manufactured  teeth. 

The  orthodontists  are  something  of  an  exception.  They 
take  advantage  of  the  fact  that  the  jaws  grow  and  form 
about  the  roots  of  the  teeth,  and  that  the  teeth  determine 


A  HEALTHY  BODY  277 

the  size  and  shape  of  the  jaw.  They  are  doing  an  admi- 
rable work  in  aiding  plastic  nature  to  produce  more  shapely 
jaws.  Teachers  should  know  what  marvels  can  be  wrought 
by  orthodontia  for  children  with  protruding,  spaced,  or 
irregular  teeth,  and  with  underdeveloped  or  misshapen 
jaws  and  chins. 

But  infinitely  more  essential  than  orthodontia,  bridge 
work,  or  any  other  clever  repair  is  simple,  religious  clean- 
liness. The  importance  of  consistently  caring  for  the  tem- 
porary teeth  from  the  time  they  are  cut  until  they  are 
outgrown  is  not  yet  appreciated.  These  are  the  reasons 
why  they  should  be  protected  with  great  care:  to  insure 
good,  comfortable  mastication ;  to  establish  early  the  clean- 
mouth  habit ;  to  prevent  pain,  nervous  irritability,  and  ear 
troubles,  that  go  with  decay;  to  avoid  a  poisonous  bac- 
terial condition  of  the  mouth ;  to  insure  the  healthy,  regu- 
lar eruption  and  development  of  the  permanent  teeth,  and 
especially  the  first  molars.  Simply  because  the  child's  first 
teeth  are  to  be  outgrown,  they  cannot  be  neglected  with 
impunity.  As  Dr.  Burnham  has  said,  "  It  is  a  concrete 
case  in  the  child's  anatomy  where  normal  immaturity  is  a 
condition  of  normal  maturity." 

Some  day  society  will  realize  that  the  well-developed 
child  is  the  most  valuable  possession  of  the  race,  and  in 
the  light  of  that  realization  may  provide  for  the  periodical, 
thorough  cleansing,  by  mechanical  appliance,  of  the  teeth 
of  school  children.  School  nurses  could  easily  be  trained 
to  perform  this  important  prophylactic  service. 

Some  one  has  summed  it  up  in  this  way  :  "  Without  good  / 
teeth  there  can  be  no  thorough  mastication ;  without  thor- 
ough mastication  there  cannot  be  perfect  digestion ;  without 
perfect  digestion  there  cannot  be  nutrition ;  without  nutri- 
tion there  cannot  be  health ;  without  health>  what  is  life  ?  " 


278        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

The  nose.  Though  not  always  ornamental,  the  nose  is 
very  important  for  physical  health,  for  the  good  reason  that 
the  nostrils  are  lined  with  a  delicate  mucous  membrane 
which  niters,  warms,  and  moistens  the  air  which  passes  over 
it.  Anything  which  interferes  with  this  function  of  the 
nose  as  a  "  practical  hygienist "  must  be  fatal  to  health 
and  growth. 

This  is  why  adenoids  are  so  serious ;  and  at  least  5  per 
cent  of  our  school  children  suffer  from  adenoids,  which 
may  be  removed  by  a  simple  operation.  The  best  time  for 
such  operation  is,  in  most  cases,  before  the  age  of  six,  which 
means  that  primary-school  teachers  may  have  an  opportu- 
nity to  do  an  invaluable  service  in  detecting  this  defect 
and  urging  its  timely  removal. 

Just  behind  the  rear  openings  of  the  nostrils,  and  between 
and  above  the  Eustachian  tubes,  lies  the  pharyngeal  tonsil. 
Normally  this  tonsil  is  at  least  harmless,  and  naturally  is 
absorbed  by  about  the  sixteenth  year,  but  in  about  one 
child  out  of  twenty  it  becomes  overgrown,  usually  before 
the  age  of  six,  and,  because  of  its  strategic  position,  does 
extremely  serious  mischief.  In  the  first  place,  it  blocks  the 
natural  passage  of  air;  this  is  equivalent  to  putting  a 
damper  on  the  furnace  of  life.  Mouth  breathing  and,  at 
night,  labored  snoring  result.  The  child's  vigor  is  sapped, 
and  physical  growth  is  retarded.  The  Eustachian  tubes  may 
become  clogged,  infected,  and  inflamed,  producing  earache 
or  partial  deafness.  The  habitual  open  mouth  and  the  dis- 
use of  the  nostrils  favor  the  buckling  of  the  roof  palate 
into  a  high  vault.  Thus  the  upper  dental  arch  becomes 
too  narrow  for  the  teeth,  which  are  crowded ;  the  upper 
lip  is  sympathetically  shortened;  the  nose  loses  its  chiseled 
character  and  may  ^broaden  at  the  bridge.  But  parents  and 
teachers  are  often  strangely  blind  even  to  these  pronounced 


A  HEALTHY  BODY  279 

physiognomic  symptoms.  Other  frequent  physical  effects  are 
diminished  stature,  decreased  circulation,  defective  speech, 
flat  and  feeble  chest  (with  increased  liability  to  tuberculo- 
sis), and  stoop  shoulders.  There  are  also  characteristic  men- 
tal symptoms  affecting  memory,  attention,  and  disposition, 
which  will  be  referred  to  later. 

The  following  sentences  by  Dr.  Burnham  summarize  the 
main  practical  points :  "  Upon  a  conservative  estimate  there 
are  in  the  kindergarten  and  elementary  grades  in  this  coun- 
try from  one  hundred  thousand  to  two  hundred  thousand 
children  suffering  from  adenoids.  Immediate  detection  and 
treatment  by  a  competent  expert  are  likely  to  mean  the  pre- 
vention of  much  discomfort,  increased  efficiency  in  school 
work,  and  the  opportunity  for  normal  development.  .  .  . 
Here  is  a  case  where  no  devices  of  formal  education  can 
atone  for  hygienic  neglect." 

The  ears.  About  the  ears  there  is  less  to  be  said.  Ear-  '• 
strain,  however,  may  be  as  injurious  to  health  as  eyestrain, 
and  defective  hearing  even  more  prejudicial  to  the  pupil's 
mentality,  his  speech,  and  his  conduct.  Although  a  simple 
test  with  the  watch  or  with  whispering  is  sufficient  to  dis- 
cover most  cases  of  deficient  hearing,  they  often  go  unno- 
ticed, and  sometimes  with  great  injustice  to  the  child.  It  is 
estimated  that  from  5  per  cent  to  25  per  cent  of  pupils  in 
different  schools  are  below  normal  in  hearing. 

The  fact  that  impaired  hearing  often  accompanies  ade- 
noids is  significant.  The  great  majority  of  cases  arise  from 
a  catarrhal  condition  of  the  middle  ear.  Sometimes  the 
trouble  is  simple  lack  of  cleanliness,  and  may  be  remedied 
by  the  use  of  soap  and  water,  warm  oil,  or  a  solution  of  soda. 

Chronic  discharge  of  the  ear  is  a  serious  affair,  and 
should  stir  parents  and  teachers  to  seek  medical  advice. 
The  source  of  the  discharge  may  be  scarlet  fever  or 


280        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

measles,  or  a  catarrhal  or  obstructed  condition  of  the  nose 
and  throat  (adenoids  and  enlarged  tonsils).  Usually  the 
infection  spreads  along  the  Eustachian  tube  (the  channel 
between  the  ear  and  the  pharynx)  to  the  middle  ear,  produc- 
ing inflammation  and  an  abscess,  the  pus  bursting  through 
the  eardrum.  In  fatal  cases  the  infection  spreads  by  way  of 
the  mastoid  bone  to  the  brain  and  its  coverings.  Apparent 
stupidity,  inattention,  and  disobedience  may  result  from 
partial  deafness.  Discharge  of  the  ear  is  serious. 

The  eyes.  If  the  primary-school  curriculum  is  very  book- 
ish and  wordy,  the  visual  mechanism  comes  in  for  a 
severe  and  unnatural  strain,  and  the  eye  may  not  attain 
its  full  size  and  strength.  "  The  eye  was  developed  for 
general-purpose  vision,"  says  Dr.  Terman,  in  an  article  on 
"  Education  against  Nature."  "  It  is  only  in  the  last  few 
centuries,  since  printing  and  literary  instruction  have  be- 
come universal,  that  the  eye  has  been  generally  robbed  of 
its  freedom,  —  domesticated,  so  to  speak,  —  and  harnessed 
into  the  wearying  treadmill  of  the  educational  machine." 
The  teacher  must  be  on  the  lookout  for  both  hereditary 
and  acquired  defects  of  vision,  which  are  the  result  of  these 
civilization  conditions.  If  she  were  among  primitive  peoples, 
she  would  not  have  to  be  so  alert. 

The  chief  varieties  of  eye  defect  are  myopia  (near  sight) 
and  hyperopia  (far  sight),  causing  respectively  a  focusing 
of  the  image  behind  and  in  front  of  the  retina ; '  strabismus 
(squint),  due  to  a  deviation  of  the  eyeballs;  and  astigma- 
tism, due  to  imperfections  of  the  cornea,  or  lens,  causing  a 
blurred  image. 

The  list  of  symptoms  associated  with  eye  troubles  is 
rather  long,  and  includes  inflammation,  watering,  congested 
lids,  crusts,  twitching,  dizziness,  blinking,  scowling,  fre- 
quent headaches  (especially  in  the  frontal  regions),  lack 


A  HEALTHY  BODY  281 

of  application,  cocking  the  head  or  holding  a  book  close  to 
the  face,  blurring  print,  and,  according  to  Gould,  many 
cases  of  lateral  spinal  curvature.  To  this  list  might  be 
added  a  considerable  number  of  "  reflex  neuroses,"  like 
vertigo,  insomnia,  indigestion  with  palpitation  of  the  heart, 
nausea  and  even  convulsions  and  nervousness,  bordering  on 
melancholia  and  hysteria. 

Dr.  E.  J.  Swift  has  shown,  in  an  excellent  discussion  in 
his  book  "  Mind  in  the  Making,"  that  one  of  the  most 
frequent  sources  of  such  neuroses  is  the  eyes.  He  adds, 
:t  Teachers  should  know  the  part  that  reflex  neuroses  play 
in  mental  hygiene,  and  in  their  preparatory  training  they 
should  learn  to  recognize  the  indications  of  these  affections 
in  order  that  the  nervous  irritation  may  be  relieved  before 
it  becomes  a  serious  menace  to  brain  growth  and  mental 
development." 

Posture.  Malposture  means  cramped  lungs,  heart,  and 
intestines,  and  sometimes  even  a  sympathetic  loss  of  sym- 
metry in  the  two  halves  of  the  face.  The  abdominal  muscles 
relax,  and  that  means  a  weakened  support  for  the  viscera. 
The  spinal  muscles  weaken,  and  that  means  a  diminished 
circulation  in  these  muscles  and  in  the  spinal  cord,  where 
are  located  nerve  centers  vital  to  the  organs  and,  indirectly, 
to  the  whole  bodily  and  mental  tone. 

It  would  be  wrong  to  regard  malposture  as  a  specific, 
intrinsic  defect.  It  is  often  a  symptom.  Developed  abdom- 
inal muscles,  exercise,  and  rest  invite  correct  posture,  and 
malposture  may  be  but  the  betrayal  of  their  absence. 

Nothing  is  quite  so  fundamental  as  posture ;  the  erect 
posture  is  the  distinction  of  the  human  being  and  should 
lie  proudly  maintained.  Says  Dr.  J.  E.  Goldthwait,  "  There 
can  be  no  greater  service  to  mankind  at  the  present  time 
than  to  make  it  possible  for  our  children,  as  they  develop, 


282        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 


to  use  their  bodies  in  such  a  way  that  there  will  be  a  mini- 
mum of  waste  and  the  greatest  amount  of  reserve  energy 
available  for  whatever  use,  whether  physical,  mental,  or 
spiritual,  to  which  the  individual  may  be  subjected  later 
on  in  life." 

Correct  postural  habits  favor  such  conservation  and  econ- 
omy of  energy.    Physical  poise  is  the  foundation  of  mental 


LARGER^ 

PIAL 

ARTERX 


WHITE  MATTER 


FIG.  54.    CROSS  SECTION  OF  A  CONVOLUTION  OF  THE  CEREBRAL  CORTEX 
(GRAY  MATTER) 

Showing  the  extremely  abundant  supply  of  capillaries.  Through  these  capil- 
laries the  blood  is  brought  to  the  brain  cells.  (From  Piersol's  "Human 

Anatomy  ") 

poise.  In  fact,  every  physical  disorder  is  bound  directly  or 
indirectly  to  affect  the  nervous  system,  which  is  so  intimately 
in  touch  with  every  bodily  structure  and  function. 

The  brain  neurons.  In  Chapter  IV  we  dealt  with  the 
significance  of  the  neuron.  Considered  from  the  broadest 
biological  standpoint,  no  class  of  cells  is  more  important 
than  the  nerve  cells.  They  are  the  master  cells  which  con- 
trol the  activity  and  cooperation  of  the  subordinate  cells. 
Considered  from  the  narrower  standpoint  of  education  and 


A  HEALTHY  BODY  283 

personal  hygiene,  no  cells  are  more  important  than  the 
neurons.  Their  health  directly  affects  the  mind  as  well  as 
the  body,  the  morals  as  well  as  the  physique.  Luther  Bur- 
bank,  whose  studies  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  have  given 
him  deep  insight  into  the  needs  of  the  human  plant,  tells  us 
to  "  regard  as  the  most  priceless  possession  of  the  growing 
child  his  nervous  system." 

Whatever  metaphysics  may  say  about  the  ultimate  connec- 
tion of  the  psychical  and  the  physical,  this  much  is  certain : 
the  neurons  are  the  organs  and  instrument  of  our  conscious 
and  subconscious  life,  but,  notwithstanding  their  exalted 
function,  they  are  mortal  bits  of  protoplasm,  dependent  on 
a  blood  stream. 

To  make  this  broad  and  far-reaching  truth  concrete,  the 
reader  should  memorize  the  picture  on  page  284,  and 
these  few  facts :  "  The  brain  requires  and  has  an  enormous 
blood  supply."  '  The  capillaries  of  the  brain  are  not  only 
more  numerous,  but  they  are  smaller  in  size  and  their  walls 
are  thinner  than  those  of  any  other  tissue."  :t  The  demand 
for  blood  in  abundance  is  more  urgent  than  elsewhere." 
"  Improper  blood  will  alter  mind ;  imperfect  drainage  will 
confuse  mind."  (Clouston.) 

In  a  word,  healthiness  of  mind  depends  first  of  all  upon 
the  condition  of  the  neurons.  This  is  why  nutrition  and 
rest  are  educational  problems  as  real  as  spelling  and  read- 
ing. It  cannot  be  otherwise ;  but,  like  other  self-evident 
truths,  this  one  is  not  yet  the  practice  of  the  race. 

Adenoids  dull  the  mind  because  they  injure  the  brain 
neurons.  The  vacant,  stupid  expression  of  the  adenoid  face 
is  not  due  to  the  anatomical  effect  on  the  nose  and  mouth 
so  much  as  to  the  debilitating  functional  effect  on  the  brain 
neurons.  The  lymph  spaces  of  the  nose  communicate  with 
those  of  the  brain,  and  when  these  are  clogged,  and  when, 


284        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 


in  addition,  the  respiration  is  interfered  with,  the  nutrition 
of  the  brain  must  suffer. 

Since  the  cortical  neurons  are  affected,  the  characteristic 
symptoms  are  distractible  attention  (aprosexia  nasalis), 
disturbed  emotion,  and  weak  memory.  In  one  instance  a 


NUCLEUS 


CAPILLARY 


NISSL 
GRANULES 


^    vC 

DENDRITES    /i     ftV     - 

/  v/ 


AXON 


FIG.  55.   ONE  BRAIN  CELL  AND  ITS  BLOOD  SUPPLY 

The  blood  stream  flows  through  the  delicate  capillary  tubes  and  normally 

maintains  the  nutritive  material  which  is  probably  stored  in  the  Nissl  granules. 

(After  Clouston) 

primary-school  child  had  spent  a  whole  year  in  school 
without  learning  the  alphabet.  An  operation  removed  the 
adenoids,  and  the  alphabet  was  learned  in  a  week. 

In  another  instance  a  child  was  irritable  by  day,  restless 
by  night,  whining,  captious,  and  "  spoiled."  Adenoids,  not 
indulgence,  spoiled  her,  for  when  they  were  removed,  her 


A  HEALTHY  BODY  285 

disposition  was  marvelously  transformed.  The  brain  neu- 
rons are  the  seat  of  the  emotions,  mood,  and  character  as 
well  as  of  memory.  Healthy  emotional  reactions  depend 
upon  healthy  neurons. 

Food  and  air.  In  some  large  cities,  like  Liverpool,  Lon 
don,  and  Naples,  the  school  authorities  have  been  almost 
forced  to  feed  the  school  children.  These  school  meals  have 
had  a  marked  effect  upon  mentality  and  conduct,  for  the 
respectable  materialistic  reason  that  a  school  lunch  enriches 
the  blood  stream  which  nourishes  the  hundreds  of  millions 
of  brain  neurons  in  each  child.  But  one  need  not  go  to  the 
slums  to  discover  the  transforming  effect  of  a  timely  glass  of 
milk  and  a  graham  cracker  on  the  attention  and  deportment 
of  a  primary-school  pupil.  Even  if  you  have  well-to-do 
children,  the  experiment  may  sometime  be  worth  trying. 
In  prosperous  suburban  districts  you  may  hear  the  com- 
plaint that  the  children  buy  lunches  of  pastry  and  pickles. 
The  teacher  who  insisted  that  her  pupils  should  devote 
at  least  twenty  minutes  to  eating  lunch  quietly  realized 
that  the  development  of  the  child  was  not  confined  to  the 
recitation  periods. 

Air  is  as  fundamentally  important  as  food.  No  one  will 
ever  know  what  a  tragic  toll  the  ill  ventilation  of  the 
average  school  has  taken  and  is  taking  from  the  lives  of 
millions  of  children.  The  overdry,  overheated  schoolroom 
atmosphere  parches  the  mucous  membranes  of  the  whole 
respiratory  system,  and  thus  lessens  their  resistance  to  dis- 
ease germs.  Worse  still,  this  air  is  in  a  state  of  stagnation, 
allowing  the  body  of  each  child  to  "  surround  itself  with  a 
steam  jacket,"  when  "  the  entire  body  requires  ventilation, 
evaporation,  '  unwarming.' " 

The  net  result  of  this  prevailing  condition  is  an  elabo- 
rate range  of  symptoms,  from  inattention  and  irritability  to 


286        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

dizziness  and  fainting,  and  always  an  insidious  attack  on 
the  child's  vitality.  Good  authorities  hold  that  a  majority 
of  the  cases  of  adult  tuberculosis  are  due  to  infection  in 
childhood. 

The  only  solution  is  to  surround  all  children  with  the 
"  flowing,  outdoor,  atmospheric  air."  Large  cities  are  now 
experimenting  with  open-air  schools  of  different  degrees 
and  varieties.  The  architecture  and  devices  are  simple,— 
tents,  lean-tos,  roof  pavilions,  sheltered  porches,  windbreaks, 
windows  hung  from  ceilings,  foot  boxes,  sitting-out  bags, 
sleeping  bags,  etc. 

Quite  recently  a  roof  school,  conducted  by  the  Chicago 
Tuberculosis  Institute,  "  gathered  in  a  group  of  limp,  pal- 
lid, physically  blighted  children.  They  were  listless,  inatten- 
tive, uninterested,  and  uninteresting.  A  thirty  days'  regime 
of  intelligent  care  and  feeding,  of  exercise  and  rest,  resulted 
in  an  average  gain  of  seven  pounds,  and,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  teachers,  made  the  pupils  an  average  group  of  children 
in  alertness,  and  in  ability  to  sit  up  and  take  instruction  and 
keep  up  sustained  interest  in  their  work.  .  . .  This  was  prob- 
ably the  one  school  in  the  city  of  Chicago  where  the  boys 
and  girls  refused  to  take  a  vacation."  The  Eskimo  suit 
makes  the  open-air  school  practical  even  in  winter  weather. 

In  another  Chicago  school  the  fresh-air  experiment  was 
tried  on  "  normal "  children.  Here,  too,  there  was  a  great 
change  for  the  better.  It  did  away  with  the  necessity  of 
much  reviewing  (and  how  much  of  the  time  in  the  ill- 
ventilated  primary  school  is  spent  in  drill  work!).  It  made 
one  impression  count,  and  the  children  became  "  strong, 
intelligent,  active,  cheerful,  capable,  and  free  from  head- 
aches and  dullness." 

Rest.  The  -study  of  fatigue  has  grown  almost  to  the 
dimensions  of  a  special  science.  We  can  allude  only  to  a 


A  HEALTHY  BODY  287 

few  facts  which  relate  to  our  central  consideration,  the 
neurons.  All  exertion  affects  the  neurons  in  two  ways: 
indirectly,  through  the  diffusion  of  waste  products  in  the 
blood;  and  directly,  by  a  consumption  of  the  nutritive 
granules  in  the  cell  bodies  of  these  neurons.  Sleep  is  the 
sweet  restorer  of  the  granules. 

Painstaking  chemical  and  microscopic  investigations 
reveal  these  fatigue  conditions,  but  unfortunately  there  is 
no  handy  X-ray  device  whereby  the  teacher  can  detect 
them.  She  must  educate  herself  to  look  for  all  sorts  of 
secondary  symptoms,  subtle  and  pronounced;  heavy  upper 
eyelid,  irritability,  inattention,  obstinacy,  restlessness,  loose 
posture,  twitching,  incoordination  in  speech,  etc. 

There  is  another  symptom  of  fatigue  which  only  the  ex- 
pert diagnostician  can  discover.  This  is  diminution  in  the 
number  of  red  corpuscles.  In  one  interesting  count  in  a 
group  of  school  boys  and  girls  in  Germany  the  average 
number  of  corpuscles  per  cubic  millimeter  of  blood  was 
increased  by  almost  one  million  after  a  two  months'  vaca- 
tion in  the  country. 

Nature's  inexorable  rhythms  cannot  be  opposed  without 
penalty.  The  curve  of  activity  in  the  amoeba  is  a  series 
of  waves  showing  regular  alternation  of  exertion  and  rest. 
Rest  is  as  necessary  as  food,  because  physically  it  is  the 
condition  of  chemical  replenishment  and  growth.  Rest  is  as 
necessary  as  attention,  because  psychically  it  is  the  condition 
of  mental  assimilation  and  growth.  Mental  assimilation  is 
a  subconscious  process  on  a  par  with  organic  anabolism. 

Rest,  nutrition,  ventilation,  —  these  factors  are  first  in 
the  development  of  the  child.  The  day  may  come  when 
every  child  will  be  treated  as  incipiently  tuberculous,  and 
when  he  will  be  freely  furnished  with  proper  food  and  air, 
sunshine  and  sleep.  What  a  sad  joke  it  would  be  if,  with 


288        THE  CONSEEVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

this  belated  justice,  half  of  the  problems  of  pedagogy  should 
suddenly  evaporate ! 

In  this  day  and  age  health  and  education  are  no  longer 
separable.  The  teacher  may  argue  that  it  is  her  business 
to  teach,  and  say,  "  Let  medical  inspection  and  health  boards 
do  the  rest."  But  the  medical  inspector  is  at  best  an  infre- 
quent and  hurried  visitor,  and  he  always  needs  the  intelli- 
gent cooperation  of  the  teacher.  When  there  is  no  medical 
inspection,  her  vigilance  over  the  child's  physical  develop- 
ment is  still  more  imperative. 

The  wide-awake,  responsible  teacher  simply  must  assume 
the  "  physician's  attitude  "  toward  the  child,  and  do  what 
she  can  "to  adjust  school  activities  to  his  health  and  growth 
needs."  She  must  become  a  diagnostician,  even  if  an  ama- 
teur one,  and  learn  the  elementary  signs  of  retarded  or 
defective  physical  development. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  HEALTHY  MIND 

The  fundamental  facts  of  mental  hygiene  are  inseparable 
from  those  of  physical  hygiene.  We  have  shown  that  the 
brute  health,  the  vigor  of  the  mind,  depends  first  of  all 
upon  such  physical  considerations  as  eyes,  ears,  nose,  and 
blood,  food,  air,  and  rest.  The  nicer  and  higher  details 
of  mental  hygiene  are  inseparable  from  pedagogy,  or  from 
education  in  a  particular  sense.  Given  a  sound  body,  a 
healthy  mind  is  possible ;  but  the  inner  organization  of  that 
mind  into  desirable,  well-proportioned  sentiments,  habits, 
and  attitudes  depends  after  all  upon  the  pedagogical  values 
of  the  home  and  the  school. 

This  fact,  though  rather  abstractly  stated,  has  very  im- 
portant bearings  on  all  matters  of  school  practice.  It  means 
that  pedagogical  methods  should  not  be  tested  by  their  suc- 
cess in  imparting  prescribed  subject  matter,  but  by  their 
effect  on  the  health  of  the  mind.  In  a  word,  it  means  that 
education  should  be  conducted  from  the  standpoint  of  psy- 
choprophylaxis.  There  is  no  question  which  more  directly 
touches  to  the  quick  the  value  of  any  school  exercise  or 
school  program  than  this  one :  Does  it  promote  a  healthy 
mind  and  healthy-mindedness  ? 

We  have  tried  to  represent  this  point  of  view  throughout 
the  discussions  in  Part  Three,  insisting  all  along  that  the 
good  method  is  not  a  device  which  most  promptly  imparts 
a  bit  of  memory  material,  but  is  the  method  which  preserves 
the  right  mental  atmosphere,  builds  up  the  right  prejudice, 

289 


290        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

the  right  attitude,  and  encourages  healthy  personal  reactions 
in  the  child. 

The  mind  is  a  unitary  living  organism  which,  though  it 
is  bound  up  with  a  physical  organism,  has  a  distinctive 
hygiene.  As  the  physiologist  has  distinguished  the  various 
bodily  functions  of  assimilation,  excretion,  etc.,  so  the  psy- 
chologist has  discriminated  the  functions  of  the  mind. 
They  have  been  happily  characterized  by  Royce  as  the  un- 
learned reactions,  docility  and  initiative.  The  first  func- 
tion comprises  all  the  instincts  and  native  tendencies ; 
the  second,  all  the  culture  traits,  habits  of  perception  and 
action,  the  acquired  tendencies  of  behavior.  By  "initiative" 
is  meant  the  original,  free,  creative  aspect  of  mind.  It, 
more  than  anything  else,  stands  for  what  is  distinctive  in 
the  individual,  for  his  genius. 

Now  children,  as  well  as  adults,  have  these  three  phases 
of  mind,  and  it  may  be  said  that  mental  health  depends 
upon  the  preservation  of  all  these  phases  in  their  full  power 
and  harmonious  proportion.  This  statement  sounds  rather 
theoretical,  but  it  has  a  thousand  concrete  applications  in 
school  management. 

If  heredity  were  all,  then  mental  hygiene  would  not  be 
so  necessary.  The  mind  qualities  and  tendencies  would, 
from  an  inborn  power,  come  to  maturity.  Heredity  places 
certain  marks  and  limitations  on  mentality,  but  it  does  not 
absolutely  insure  the  development  of  its  possibilities.  A 
child  may  be  a  natural-born  imbecile — you  cannot  make 
him  normal;  but  if  neglected  or  unwisely  treated,  he  is 
quite  likely  to  sink  to  the  plane  of  an  idiot.  Undoubtedly, 
normal  children  are  often  made  pseudo-feeble-minded  by 
unwise  school  methods. 

One  of  the  chief  symptoms  of  feebleness  of  mind  is  a  lack 
of  the  qualities  of  initiative,  independence,  resourcefulness ; 


A  HEALTHY  MIND  291 

and  these  are  the  very  qualities  which  the  schools  do  the 
least  to  preserve.  It  is  absolutely  certain  that  poor  teach- 
ing can  bring  about  a  cerebral  enfeeblement  which  will 
destroy  some  of  the  finest  elements  of  child  life,  —  eager- 
ness, spontaneity,  originality,  curiosity,  —  the  qualities  of 
initiative.  In  the  chapter  on  instinct  we  showed  the  hygienic 
significance  of  relaxation.  The  highest  function  of  relaxa- 
tion is  to  nourish  the  natural  sources  of  these  supreme  qual- 
ities of  personality.  The  conservation  of  these  same  qualities 
should  be  the  highest  ami  of  educational  hygiene.  More  of 
this  in  the  concluding  chapters.  The  relationship  of  the 
sense  of  humor  to  a  healthy  mind  is  so  important  that  we 
have  devoted  a  special  chapter  to  that  subject. 

The  mind  is  a  living  unit,  but  a  unit  with  three  expres- 
sions: thinking,  feeling,  and  doing,  —  intellect,  emotion, 
and  will.  Hygiene  recognizes  the  natural  unity  of  the 
mind,  and  insists  that  mental  health  depends  on  a  proper 
coordination  of  all  three  expressions.  Pedagogy  also  must 
recognize  this  natural  unity  and  beware  of  any  practice 
which  artificially  dissociates  thinking  or  doing  from  feeling. 
It  surely  is  true  in  the  adult  that  unhappiness,  not  to 
say  mental  abnormality  (subjectivity,  melancholia,  etc.), 
results  if  emotion  is  ineffectual  or  if  there  is  a  great  gap 
between  thought  and  action.  The  mind  must  be  firmly 
knit  together  to  be  healthy. 

The  mental  hygiene  of  the  child  at  the  primary-school 
age  is  doubly  important  because  it  affects  health  of  mind 
in  youth  and  in  maturity.  Childhood  is,  from  the  stand- 
point of  hygiene,  the  foundation  of  youth. 

Dementia  prcecox  is  a  pathetic  youthful  failure  of  mind, 
an  adolescent  mental  deterioration  which  supplies  almost 
one  third  of  all  the  admissions  to  hospitals  for  the  insane. 
The  central  feature  of  this  dementia  is  a  dissociation  of 


292        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

thought,  action,  and  feeling.  The  subject  often  sinks  into 
a  state  of  stuporous  inactivity,  with  empty  ambitions  and 
reduced  emotions.  It  is  coming  to  be  believed  that  this 
peculiar  mental  dilapidation  and  irresponsiveness  is  not 
necessarily  due  to  organic,  morbid  heredity,  but  may  be 
the  lawful  outcome  of  previous  faulty  adjustments  to  envi- 
ronment, of  poor  education,  and  serious  lack  of  "concrete 
productivity."  By  fostering  hearty  attack  of  tangible  prob- 
lems, absorption  in  concrete  interests,  and  healthy  habits 
of  work,  the  primary  school  may  perform  a  preventive  office 
in  diminishing  the  liability  to  dementia  prcecox  and  milder 
approaches  to  that  condition.  The  school  must  not  be  need- 
lessly guilty  of  dissociating  thought,  feeling,  and  action. 

The  mistake  of  many  school  methods  is  that  they  do 
not  treat  the  child  as  a  unit.  They  seem  to  regard  him 
from  a  phrenological  standpoint,  as  though  his  brain  were 
a  bundle  of  independent  organs,  one  for  writing,  another 
for  number,  etc.  Nature  intended  the  child  to  work  as  a 
unit.  Intellect,  feeling,  and  will  should  function  together, 
reenforcing  one  another. 

In  this  trinity,  feeling  is  both  central  and  fundamental. 
Feeling,  mood,  emotion,  desire,  attitudes  (they  are  all  kin), 
are  born  of  instinct,  and  there  is  nothing  more  fundamental 
in  human  nature  than  instinct. 

Nature  desires  children  to  work  by  mood  and  motive.  This, 
we  think,  is  the  supreme  principle  of  mental  hygiene  ap- 
plicable to  the  problems  of  child  life  and  primary-school 
education.  It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  by  mood  we  do 
not  mean  a  passing  whim,  but  a  feeling  atmosphere  which 
initiates,  supports,  and  energizes  what  the  child  is  doing. 

For  the  hygiene  of  instruction  this  principle  is  very  far- 
reaching.  The  following  will  recall  the  application  of  the 
principle  to  the  program  and  pedagogy  of  the  primary  school : 


A  HEALTHY  MIND  293 

Drawing  needs  the  artistic  mood,  the  desire  to  express. 

So  does  the  dramatic  work.  Both  should  be  a  "  natural 
reaction  to  feeling." 

They  are  like  language.  Language  cannot  be  taught; 
it  must  be  evoked.  It  must  spring  from  a  wish  to  say 
something. 

Phonics  instruction  must  recognize  the  factor  of  feel- 
ing, the  spirit  of  play.  It  is  bound  to  fail  if  it  is  formal, 
technical,  listless.  Melodious  speech  depends  primarily 
on  mood. 

Reading  should  have  a  motive.  It  should  be  accompanied 
by  the  feeling  of  creativity,  of  investigation,  —  the  desire 
for  information. 

Literature,  above  all  else,  must  be  pervaded  by  and 
awaken  fitting  moods. 

Even  nature  study  must  not  be  solely  informational. 
More  important  than  mere  facts  are  the  feelings  for  the 
facts,  the  attitudes  toward  nature,  life,  sex,  etc. 

Handwriting,  which  is  the  most  purely  technical  subject 
in  the  whole  curriculum,  suffers  if  feeling  is  absent.  It 
prospers  best  with  the  support  of  the  rhythmic  mood. 

The  morning  exercises,  however  brief,  may  become  the 
most  precious  part  of  the  day,  because  they  are  psycho- 
logical moments  for  setting  moods  and  awakening  varied 
emotional  attitudes  of  joy,  seriousness,  and  humor. 

Busy-work  is  a  foe  to  child  life  if  it  invites  disintegrating 
languor.  It  should  nourish  the  spirit  of  achievement  and 
pride  in  efficient  effort. 

Discipline  reduces  itself  to  the  maintenance  of  the  right 
working  attitudes  in  the  classroom. 

Finally,  in  handwork  the  chief  consideration  again  is 
attitude,  —  attitude  toward  work.  Here  intelligence,  feel- 
ing, and  will  must  join  to  bring  about  joyous,  purposeful 


294        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

activity.  Love  of  independent  effort,  joy  of  attack,  enthusi- 
astic persistence  in  work,  —  these  are  the  vital  things  to 
preserve.  The  reason  why  handwork,  all  in  all,  furnishes 
the  best  medium  for  the  education  of  the  primary-school 
child  is  because,  more  than  any  other  subject,  it  enlists  this 
whole  personality  energized  by  mood  and  motive. 

Primary-school  children,  even  more  than  older  children, 
need  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  personality.  They  are  more 
generic,  less  differentiated,  less  open  to  specialization ;  and 
premature  specialization,  which  invites  only  part  of  their 
energy,  injures  the  health  of  their  growing  minds.  They 
throw  their  whole  being  into  play.  Nothing  sp  unifies  their 
whole  nature  as  the  spirit  of  play,  and  the  work  of  the 
school  ought  to  enjoy  the  same  unifying  mood  and  motive. 
Short  periods  of  intense,  whole-souled  activity  followed  by 
relaxation,  —  this  is  the  ideal  of  primary -school  education. 

The  time  is  sure  to  come  when  the  school  will  more 
frankly  and  fully  carry  out  this  ideal  by  interspersing  the 
school  session  with  periods  of  complete  relaxation.  Chronic 
busyness  is  the  bane  of  school  life,  even  though  the  etymo- 
logical meaning  of  the  word  "school"  is  "leisure."  Steamer 
chairs  and  reclining  cots  have  a  place  in  the  development 
of  normal  as  well  as  of  sickly  school  children.  The  valu- 
able art  of  taking  a  cat  nap  or  a  recuperative  "  let-down  " 
might  well  be  taught  in  the  kindergarten  and  primary 
grades;  that  is,  if  we  really  believe  that  one  of  the  aims 
of  education  is  the  development  of  healthful  habits  of 
relaxation. 

When  we  attempt  to  describe  the  qualities  of  a  healthy 
mind,  we  naturally  use  those  adjectives  which  also  apply  to 
the  healthy  body,  such  as  "  strong,"  "  vigorous,"  "  prompt," 
"balance,"  "effectual,"  "organized,"  and  "athletic."  An 
athletic  body  is  one  which  will  take  hurdles  nicely,  which 


A  HEALTHY  MIND  295 

will  expend  just  the  right  energy  in  taking  them.  So  also 
is  the  athletic  mind. 

These  athletic  qualities  have  their  beginning  in  the 
primary  school,  and  are  nurtured  in  the  daily  habits  of 
study,  the  habits  of  play  and  work.  Habits  of  dawdling 
activity  and  moodless  lassitude  make  the  mind  which  is  as 
inert  and  inconsequent  as  an  atrophied  muscle.  Surely  this 
is  not  the  healthy  mind ;  it  is  the  enfeebled  mind,  for  which 
education,  rather  than  morbid  heredity,  is  responsible.  The 
healthy  mind  is  the  mind  which,  though  organized  by  whole- 
some habits,  keeps  on  growing  in  the  power  to  achieve  and 
to  enjoy. 

The  whole  child  comes  to  school.  Health  alone  can 
keep  him  whole  in  body  and  in  mind.  To  guard  this  life- 
enriching  health,  the  teacher's  love  must  be  pervaded  with 
the  physician's  attitude,  for  surely  she  is  called  to  be  a 
physician  to  the  growing  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  SAVING  SENSE  OF  HUMOR 

The  whole  country  is  alive  to  our  industrial  waste,  and 
necessity  has  made  conservation  a  national  ideal.  Water, 
wood,  oil,  and  coal  must  be  used  advisedly,  that  future 
generations  may  not  pay  the  penalty  of  our  improvidence. 
It  is  realized  that  these  forces  are  motive  power,  that  they 
hold  the  initial  energy  which  drives  the  great  industries  of 
the  world.  Their  use  or  misuse  is  a  matter  of  public  concern. 
A  machine  that  uses-  energy  out  of  proportion  to  the  power 
it  generates  rusts  on  the  market. 

But  what  of  human  energy,  particularly  that  of  the  child  ? 
The  schools  are  great  machines  that  are  eating  up  the  energy 
of  childhood  and  keeping  no  record  of  the  waste. 

The  conservation  of  life  is  an  ancient  and  noble  ideal. 
We  all  desire  that  our  lives  should  be  fulfilled,  not  thwarted, 
that  they  should  be  abundant,  not  scanty.  And  this  should 
be  the  ideal  of  the  teacher  and  of  the  state  in  their  relation 
to  the  lives  embodied  in  eager,  joyous  children. 

But  this  is  just  the  ideal  most  difficult  to  carry  out.  On 
every  hand  are  t?  the  masters  of  life  "  -  convention,  tra- 
dition, economy,  habit  —  conspiring  to  imprison  the  living 
energies  of  teacher  and  pupil  within  rigid  confines.  What 
can  we  do  to  stave  off  these  foes  of  the  best,  the  variant, 
the  distinctive  elements  in  the  individual  life  ?  Cultivate 
the  sense  of  humor. 

It  is  the  function  of  humor,  as  Kline  has  so  well  said, 
"to  increase  the  pliancy  of  mental  structure,  to  check 

296 


THE  SAVING  SENSE  OF  HUMOK  297 

mechanization,  and  to  preserve  and  fan  sparks  of  genius." 
"  Humor  keeps  the  individual  young,  projects  the  best  in 
youth  into  adult  life,  sets  metes  and  bounds  to  docility, 
and  prevents  the  mental  life  of  the  race  from  hardening 
into  instinctive  and  hereditary  forces."  Dr.  Stephen  Colvin 
in  a  recent  article  has  called  timely  attention  to  the  neg- 
lected educational  value  of  humor.  "  To  educate  in  humor," 
he  thinks,  "  is  to  furnish  a  liberal  training,  to  humanize. 
Training  in  humor  would  do  much  to  equip  the  individual 
with  mind  to  meet  the  caprices  of  fortune  with  fortitude, 
intelligence,  humanity,  and,  if  need  be,  with  resignation." 

Gorki,  in  one  of  his  great  novels,  says:  "  God  makes  things 
round,  such  as  the  earth  and  all  the  stars  and  everything 
visible  to  the  eye.  The  sharp  angular  things  are  the  work 
of  men."  The  average  schoolroom  is  a  fine  example  of  this 
man-made  angularity.  The  very  building  of  which  the 
room  is  a  part  is  often  excessively  rectangular.  The  seating 
arrangement  is  uniformly  rectangular,  and  squarely  screwed 
to  the  floor  so  that  it  cannot  ever  be  altered.  The  checker- 
board program  on  the  board  and  the  stiff  clock  stuck  on 
the  wall  complete  the  picture.  In  satire  the  schoolmaster 
himself  is  an  angular  personage. 

A  recent  anonymous  writer  in  Scribners  has  sketched  a 
type  portrait  of  the  pedagogue,  which  brings  out  strikingly 
some  of  his  formalistic  failings.  The  portrait,  though  not 
flattering,  is  drawn  without  malice,  in  a  spirit  of  psycho- 
logical analysis,  and  "dedicated  to  the  belief  that  it  is  now 
and  then  well  to  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us."  "  When 
the  psychology  of  occupations  is  written,"  says  the  writer, 
"  its  most  interesting  chapter  will  be  one  which  analyzes 
the  backstrokes  of  the  various  pursuits  upon  the  workers." 
The  occupational  backstrokes  which  stamp  the  teacher  are, 
briefly,  a  fictitious  type  of  bearing  (so  different  from  the 


298        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

frank  and  easy  manner  of  the  physician  and  business  man), 
a  devotion  to  method  and  petty  devices,  a  didactic  habit, 
and  pedantry.  "  And  finally,  in  order  to  make  the  confes- 
sion complete,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  we  are  pecu- 
liarly liable  to  fall  prisoners  to  conventionality." 

This  characterization  is,  of  course,  not  intended  to  do 
justice  to  the  many  open-minded,  sprightly  members  who 
adorn  the  profession,  but  it  is  one  more  justification  for  the 
plea  that  the  primary  schools  introduce  more  plasticity,  more 
humor,  into  their  regime.  It  may  also  justify  a  serious 
consideration  of  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 

Do  the  pupils  themselves,  when  they  can  exercise  judg- 
ment, think  that  their  teachers  are  overconventional,  over- 
serious  ?  We  received  a  substantial  answer  to  this  question 
from  sixty-seven  normal-school  students.  We  simply  asked 
them  to  count  up  the  number  of  teachers  they  had  had  up 
to  graduation  from  high  school  (the  number  totaled  1679), 
and  then  to  count  the  number  of  teachers  they  distinctly 
remembered  as  having  a  sense  of  humor  or  fun  in  the  school- 
room. This  number  amounted  to  only  224,  or  less  than 
14  per  cent  of  the  total.  Forty-four,  or  two  thirds  of  the 
students,  remembered  either  three,  two,  one,  or  no  teachers 
answering  this  description.  Although  the  students  were 
asked  to  do  no  more  than  give  the  figures,  it  is  interesting  to 
know  that  they  volunteered  remarks  like  the  following  about 
those  teachers  with  humor.  "  She  was  the  best  liked  of  all"  ; 
"  she  had  the  best  control  over  us";  "  I  just  loved  her  and 
was  always  glad  to  see  her  coming."  One  student  to  whom 
the  question  evidently  appealed  said,  "  I  do  not  remember 
one  grade  teacher  who  could  actually  laugh  heartily  and  live 
through  it.  Until  I  entered  high  school,  I  do  not  remember 
ever  to  have  had  a  laugh  worth  while  in  connection  with 
school  work." 


THE  SAVING  SENSE  OF  HUMOR  299 

Is  it  not  high  time  for  the  schools  to  cherish  the  sense  of 
humor  instead  of  repressing  it  ?  Perhaps  the  humor  sense 
deserves  as  much  education  as  the  number  sense.  There 
are  all  sorts  of  ways  to  educate  the  sense  of  humor  in  little 
children,  but  the  ways  and  humor  itself  are  so  subtle  that 
detailed  methods  are  out  of  the  question.  Suggestion  is  the 
chief  thing,  for  humor  is  at  bottom  an  emotional  reaction, 
and,  like  all  emotional  attitudes,  is  communicated  conta- 
giously from  its  source.  Vivacity — lively  facial  expression 
of  the  humorous  through  the  alchemy  of  muscle  reading 
—will  often  awaken  sluggish  minds  to  like  appreciation. 
Atmosphere,  of  course,  is  all-important,  for  the  sense  of 
humor  will  not  thrive,  except  as  a  kind  of  instinctive  rebel- 
lion, in  the  overserious  schoolroom  which  does  not  permit 
the  little  comedies  of  error  in  the  actual  life  of  the  day  to 
be  responded  to. 

In  the  chapter  on  drawing  we  have  suggested  the  possi- 
bilities of  this  fine,  plastic  medium  for  the  expression  of 
humor.  If  drawing  were  developed  to  its  possibilities,  most 
of  us  might  be  amateur  caricaturists.  Should  we  not  bring 
more  good,  funny  pictures  to  children?  Appreciation  of 
the  comic  in  art  is  no  less  responsive  to  cultivation  than 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful. 

There  is  hardly  an  art  which  does  not  have  a  place  for 
the  expression  of  humor,  —  drawing,  music,  sculpture  (clay 
modeling),  dancing,  dramatics,  and  literature.  All  of  these 
arts  are,  or  should  be,  represented  in  the  primary  school, 
and  should,  on  occasion,  be  given  a  humorous  turn  —  espe- 
cially literature.  Why  not  double  up  the  children  a  little 
of tener  with  the  joy  of  the  purely  funny  ? 

The  classic  nonsense  tale  about  Epaminondas  and  his 
Aunty  shows  that  the  seeds  of  milder  philosophic  humor 
may  also  be  sown,  or  rather  watered,  in  the  primary  grade. 


300        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

Epaminondas  was  a  little  negro  boy  who  was  not  blessed 
with  a  high  degree  of  "relational  activity  of  mind."  He 
brought  things  home  to  his  mammy,  but  in  stupid  com- 
pliance with  previous  correction.  The  cake  he  crunched  in 
his  fist ;  the  butter  he  carried  in  the  hat  on  his  head ;  the 
dog  he  cooled  to  death  in  the  water;  the  loaf  of  bread 
he  tied  to  a  string  and  dragged  home.  "O  Epaminondas, 
Epaminondas !  you  ain't  got  the  sense  you  was  born  with ; 
you  never  did  have  the  sense  you  was  bom  with ;  you 
never  will  have  the  sense  you  was  born  with."  You  are 
one  of  those  numerous  illustrations  of  the  fact  that  too 
much  mechanization  is  inimical  to  both  individual  develop- 
ment and  racial  evolution !  The  teacher  need  n't  moralize, 
but  a  day  or  two  later  she  may  have  occasion  to  call  some 
stupidly  docile  boy  Epaminondas.  The  tale,  as  given  in  one 
of  Sara  Bryant's  collections,  goes  on  to  tell  how  mammy  left 
six  mince  pies  she  "  done  "  make,  on  the  doorstep  to  cool, 
with  the  injunction,  "  You  hear  me  now,  Epaminondas,  you 
be  careful  how  you  step  on  them  pies,"  and  then  —  and 
then  —  Epaminondas  was  careful  how  he  stepped  on  those 
pies.  Here  the  story  ought  to  end.  If  the  story  is  well 
told,  and  if  the  children  have  not  been  mentally  repressed, 
they  will  see  the  point  without  further  impersonation  and 
narration ;  and  this  is  education  in  humor,  for,  intellec- 
tually, humor  is  a  relational  activity  of  the  mind  which 
sees  the  point. 

There  are  all  grades  and  degrees  of  humor.  This  might 
be  expected  when  we  remember  that  the  smile  probably 
had  its  origin  in  the  grinning  retraction  of  the  lips  which 
accompanied  the  physical  enjoyment  of  a  good  feast,  and 
that  laughter  was  first  associated  with  the  digestion  of  the 
feast.  To  this  day  laughing  and  growing  fat  go  together. 
In  another  chapter  we  have  already  shown  that,  as  a  relief 


THE  SAVING  SENSE  OF  HUMOR  301 

from  constraint,  laughing  is  an  instinctive  form  of  relaxa- 
tion. It  also  has  some  primitive  connections  with  the  tickle 
sense,  with  play,  and  with  the  savage  instinct  of  bullying. 
Even  among  the  lower  animals  there  are  traces  of  mirth, 
smile,  chuckle,  and  laugh.  The  sense  for  the  humorous,  in 
common  with  the  other  exalted  powers  of  man,  has  a  lineage 
that  goes  back  to  humble  origins.  An  interesting  passage 
on  this  point  is  quoted  by  Sully  from  an  essay  by  George 
Eliot:  "Strange  as  the  genealogy  may  seem,  the  original 
parentage  of  that  wonderful  and  delicious  mixture  of  fun, 
philosophy,  and  feeling  which  constitutes  modern  humor 
was  probably  the  cruel  mockery  of  a  savage  at  the  writh- 
ings  of  a  suffering  enemy.  Such  is  the  tendency  of  things 
toward  the  better  and  more  beautiful." 

As  in  the  race,  so  in  the  individual,  the  sense  of  humor 
is  capable  of  development.  From  the  clownish  and  some- 
times savage  fun  of  childhood  to  a  gentle,  sympathetic 
humor  "  saturated  with  reflection  "  is  a  long  step,  but  not 
an  impossible  one.  Even  the  great  humorist  Shakespeare 
had  to  elevate  himself  and  his  patrons  from  the  lower  levels 
to  the  higher.  His  early  dramas,  like  "  The  Comedy  of 
Errors  "  and  "  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  are  full  of 
buffoonery,  mistaken  identity,  broad  punning,  and  rustic 
horseplay.  In  his  riper  productions,  like  "  Twelfth  Night " 
and  "  The  Tempest,"  the  fool  is  philosopher  and  the  jester 
exalted  humorist.  Can  we  not  bring  into  child  life  more  of 
this  developing  and  developmental  humor  ? 

"  The  conservation  of  child  life  "  is  more  than  a  phrase. 
It  fully  represents  the  deepest  and  most  central  of  all 
problems  and  duties.  We  are  not  thinking  of  physical 
health  only  but  also  of  psychic  values.  Physical  health  will 
always  remain  the  first  requisite,  but  life  is  more  than 
circulation  of  healthy  blood.  The  child  will  be  a  man,  and 


302        THE  CONSEEVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

what  will  serve  him  best  then  are  the  generic  qualities  of 
childhood,  elasticity  and  eagerness  of  spirit.  The  preserva- 
tion of  these  qualities  is  the  conservation  of  child  life  and 
should  be  the  highest  ideal  of  education. 

As  school  and  society  are  now  constituted  we  can  hardly 
behold  the  buoyancy  and  curiosity  of  a  child  without  a 
vague  dread  that  these  life  elements  are  probably  doomed 
to  die  out.  The  school  does  not  even  consciously  try  to 
conserve  them.  All  pedagogy  is  mainly  bent  on  developing 
the  virtues  of  obedience,  accuracy,  honesty,  faithfulness  in 
memory,  faithfulness  in  conduct,  skill  in  technique,  per- 
severance, and  a  host  of  proprieties.  Well  and  good,  but 
it  is  significant  that  these  virtues  are  the  virtues  of  fixity, 
of  mechanization,  even  of  rigidity.  In  Royce's  terminology, 
they  are  the  virtues  of  docility  but  not  of  initiative. 

No  wonder  that  the  schools  turn  out  such  large  job  lots  of 
commonplaceness.  We  are  not  earnestly  trying  to  preserve 
the  most  precious  of  life  elements,  the  variant  elements  of 
enthusiasm  and  originality.  The  dullness,  the  routine,  the 
solemnity,  the  inflexibility  of  the  schools,  kill  initiative. 

If  we  make  a  rough  inventory  of  the  larger  mental  traits 
which  every  grown  person  ought  to  have  for  his  own  happi- 
ness and  that  of  others,  we  surely  must  add  many  traits 
to  the  docility  list  given  above.  What  this  old  world  needs, 
in  addition  to  the  "  training "  of  mind  and  morals,  is  a 
greater  fund  of  untrained  elastic  spirit,  flexible  enough  to 
take  fresh,  unbigoted  attitudes  toward  things  and  problems. 
Let  us  try  to  enumerate  some  of  these  nondocility  traits: 
toleration ;  resourcefulness  in  work,  play,  leisure ;  genial 
interest  in  the  commonest  things  of  life ;  ability  to  see  the 
point ;  adaptability  to  new  and  suddenly  shifting  situations  ; 
a  sense  for  disproportion  and  keenness  to  see  through  the 
unwarranted  pretensions  of  others ;  capacity  to  laugh  aright 


THE  SAVING  SENSE  OF  HUMOR  303 

at  self  and  others ;  control  over  sensitiveness.  (A  silly,  semi- 
jealous  sensitiveness  is  one  of  the  most  universal  causes  for 
trouble  in  this  world,  —  a  human  trait  on  which  a  bulky 
sociological  treatise  might  be  written.) 

These  qualities,  though  they  do  not  have  much  recog- 
nition in  the  textbooks  of  ethics  and  the  current  discus- 
sions of  moral  education,  are  of  highest  ethical  import  and 
value.  To  say  that  these  fine  qualities  can  be  learned  only 
in  the  school  of  life,  and  not  in  the  life  of  the  school,  is 
pedagogical  pessimism.  The  life  of  the  school  can  be  made 
rich  and  free  enough  to  nourish  them  all. 

There  is  a  marked  and  wholesome  tendency  in  current 
thought  which  is  casting  suspicion  on  the  whole  value  of 
the  first  years  of  primary-school  education.  We  hear  it  said 
that  it  would  be  just  as  well,  or  better,  if  the  child  did  not 
go  to  school  at  all  until  he  is  ten  years  old  or  more.  But 
the  last  word  on  this  great  subject  has  not  been  said.  The 
child  life  of  rich  and  poor  alike  will  suffer  atrophy  if  op- 
portunities for  expression  and  imitation  at  home  are  limited. 
It  is  not  so  much  a  question  of  home  versus  school  as  right 
atmosphere  and  healthful  surroundings.  Even  in  the  pri- 
mary schools  it  is  not  so  much  a  question  of  upsetting  the 
whole  curriculum  as  revolutionizing  the  spirit  and  method 
of  conducting  the  school.  We  have  tried  all  along  to  show 
how  the  humble  materials  in  the  reach  of  every  teacher,  — 
drawing,  reading,  writing,  handwork,  and  even  trivial  busy- 
work,  every  occupation  of  the  school,  —  can  be  hygienically 
used  to  develop  the  child,  to  speed  the  growth  of  his  free 
and  conquering  spirit.  If  this  cannot  be  done,  let  us  say 
that  Rousseau  was  right,  and  turn  the  little  colts  out  to 
pasture  and  be  done  with  it. 

But  while  the  primary  school  exists  it  must  have  life- 
giving  breath  for  the  spirit  of  its  children.  The  thick  fogs 


304        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

of  formalism  must  pass  out  of  the  windows,  and  the  saving 
sense  of  humor  must  enter.  Humor  is  a  large,  life-giving 
trait,  bound  up  with  play,  sympathy,  and  insight.  It  is 
related  to  the  relaxation  reflexes,  which  have  a  biological 
origin  and  a  psycho-physiological  protective  function.  It 
is  a  natural  means  of  conserving  the  intellectual  quality 
of  mental  pliancy  and  the  ethical  quality  of  elasticity  of 
spirit.  It  is  a  saving  sense,  and  as  such  has  an  important 
office  in  the  hygiene  of  mind  and  in  an  educational  policy 
of  conservation. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

FORMALISM  AND  CHILD  PERSONALITY 

The  overzealous  parent  at  the  door  and  the  relentless 
timepiece  on  the  wall  conspire  to  keep  an  artificially  pre- 
cocious atmosphere  in  the  primary  school.  Order,  system, 
detail,  and  prescription  have  replaced  spontaneity,  grace, 
initiative,  and  investigation.  The  spirit  of  childhood  lan- 
guishes, and  in  its  place  stalk  the  stem  figures  of  propriety 
and  formalism.  Children  are  variable,  inconstant,  and  un- 
stable ;  like  birds  on  the  wing  they  dart  hither  and  thither, 
glad  of  the  very  air  they  breathe.  They  work  intensively, 
unevenly,  in  short  periods  of  effort,  and  flourish  in  free- 
dom rather  than  in  confinement.  Mood,  the  unerring  guide 
of  childhood,  may  not  be  grafted  on  from  the  outside,  but 
must  spring  from  a  joyous,  inward  response  to  a  frank, 
healthy,  childlike  atmosphere. 

How  often  the  most  promising  child  in  the  room  is 
thwarted  in  his  growth  by  the  incessant  inhibition  and 
prescription  of  the  early  grades.  The  eager,  questioning, 
imaginative  child  cannot  endure  the  dull  tedium  of  per- 
functory instruction.  He  wants  to  express  rather  than  to 
be  always  impressed.  Life  is  new  and  invites  exploration. 
He  is  not  willing  to  memorize  and  visualize  the  symbols 
while  the  warm,  living  things  which  they  represent  are 
touching  his  elbow. 

We  have  in  mind  a  little  ragged,  eager  boy  whom  the 
schools  are  robbing  of  his  most  precious  gifts.  He  commits 
the  sin  of  talking  out,  for  his  responses  are  quick,  sudden, 

306 


306        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

and  unhesitating.  He  is  not  always  orthodox  in  the  stories 
he  tells,  for  he  is  so  imaginative  that  he  cannot  inhibit  the 
multitude  of  suggestions  which  dance  into  his  brain.  He 
is  disorderly,  for  he  is  apt  to  laugh,  sing,  or  exclaim  in  un- 
expected places.  He  is  not  attentive,  for  his  vital,  sensitive 
nature  responds  to  every  distracting  call.  He  lives  deeply, 
for  a  host  of  lovely  associations  cling  around  words  and 
things,  and  lead  him  into  rambling,  personal  recollections. 
He  is  running  over  with  affection,  a  very  lover  of  things ; 
he  wants  to  handle  everything,  to  bring  life  into  close  rap- 
port with  his  own  vibrating  little  body.  He  does  not  sit 
still,  therefore,  to  wait  his  turn  when  the  birds,  stones,  and 
flowers  are  formally  passed  for  inspection.  The  stuffed  bird 
takes  on  life  immediately,  and  is  like  the  bird  who  built  a 
nest  in  his  own  yard.  The  dragon  fly  becomes  the  little 
quivering  one  he  touched  once  when  he  was  at  play.  How 
can  he  repress  these  bursting  recollections  and  instincts 
until  he  is  asked  a  question  ? 

But  such  a  child  does  not  fit  into  the  school  routine ;  he 
irritates  by  his  very  virtues,  and  is  hampered  by  his  genius. 
If  education  were  more  sincere,  instead  of  ostracizing  such 
a  boy,  turning  him  off  into  a  solitary  corner,  teachers  would 
let  the  contagion  of  his  love  of  life  permeate  the  whole 
room.  They  would  let  the  purity  of  his  kinship  with  nature 
sift  into  the  heart  of  every  stolid  little  creature  in  the  group, 
and  would  bend  every  effort  to  grow  more  of  his  kind. 

Child  life  and  child  motives  are  elusive,  creative,  elastic, 
and  intuitive.  Every  growing  thing  in  nature  lives  in  a 
freer,  more  inspiring  atmosphere  than  the  modern  child. 
The  plants  have  a  better  chance  of  preserving  their  initial 
impulses  and  achieving  their  destiny.  We  do  not  make 
the  bees  rotate  in  order  from  flower  to  flower,  nor  tell  the 
birds  into  which  tree  to  fly. 


FORMALISM  AND  CHILD  PERSONALITY     307 

But  the  child  is  circumvented  at  every  turn  by  well- 
meaning  adults  out  of  harmony  with  his  intent;  even  his 
play  is  crippled  by  formal  limitations  and  adult  concep- 
tions of  organization  and  courtesy.  We  cannot  force  our 
motives  and  our  standards  on  children  without  arresting  a 
natural  process  of  growth.  Why  shut  the  children  up  in  the 
prisons  which  we  have  made  for  ourselves  out  of  inhibition 
and  conventional  standards  ? 

Even  if  an  utter  revolution  of  program  is  necessary,  it 
would  be  justified  if  we  could,  by  such  a  change,  preserve 
emotion,  eagerness,  and  enthusiastic  persistence  in  work. 
Programs  are  too  inflexible.  Periods  should  run  over  and 
run  into  one  another.  There  are  days  when  a  protracted 
session,  emphasizing  and  illuminating  one  idea,  should  wipe 
out  all  divisions  into  reading,  writing,  spelling,  etc.  These 
things  are  not  ends  in  themselves,  but  merely  the  means  of 
recording,  illuminating,  and  impressing  some  idea.  Chil- 
dren should  think  about  the  larger  aspects  of  things  and 
learn  how  to  call  in  these  technical  accomplishments  of 
reading  and  writing  as  messengers  of  their  thought.  The 
breathless  hurry  to  read  two  pages  or  to  spell  twenty  words 
or  to  write  ten  lines  in  a  specified  time  is  foreign  to  every 
impulse  of  childhood.  It  is  mechanical,  artificial,  unreal, 
sophisticated,  and  is  the  refuge  of  tired  teachers  who  need 
not  then  be  resourceful  or  companionable. 

Take  the  programs  down  from  the  doors  and  seize  upon 
the  psychological  moments  when  writing,  reading,  and  spell- 
ing really  express  thought  and  make  permanent  ideas  upon 
some  central  topic.  They  should  be  the  means  of  objectify- 
ing, preserving,  and  enforcing  ideas.  The  child's  personality 
cannot  emerge  and  develop  unless  his  emotions  are  stirred 
in  vital  accompaniment  to  his  intellectual  work.  This  is  a 
natural  law. 


308        THE  CONSERVATION"  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

The  skillful  teacher  withdraws  herself,  and  throws  the 
burden  of  discovery  and  explanation  upon  the  children. 
Give  them  a  genuine  problem,  and  then  fairly  turn  them 
loose  to  solve  and  illustrate  it  in  a  variety  of  ways.  How 
the  children  love  to  wrestle  with  problems,  and  how  they 
enjoy  their  triumph  when  one  is  solved !  Out  of  this 
wrestling  and  triumph  personality  is  born. 

It  is  time  to  have  a  reckoning,  to  realize  before  it  is  too 
late  the  futility  of  pushing  nature.  There  are  certain  basic 
instincts  implanted  in  childhood  which  wedge  their  way 
through  obstacles  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  purpose. 
The  little  child  comes  running  to  school  pushed  by  curios- 
ity, energized  by  feeling,  tingling  with  response  to  sensation, 
and  reveling  in  images  of  past  experiences,  but  the  teacher 
discards  these  sharp-edged  tools  which  make  early  work- 
manship easy,  and  substitutes  dull  drills. 

Little  children  work  from  impulse,  desire,  feeling,  not 
from  prescription.  The  child  who  enters  the  primary  school 
to  wrestle  with  its  problems  has  no  standards  to  guide  him 
in  his  intellectual  efforts,  save  those  which  have  preserved 
him  physically.  He  instinctively  seizes  upon  that  which 
pleases  him,  for  pleasure  in  its  highest  sense  has  been  his 
biological  safeguard.  He  drinks  because  he  is  thirsty ;  he 
eats  because  he  is  hungry  ;  and  he  is  strengthened  in  a  large 
measure  by  what  he  eats  and  drinks  because  he  enjoys  it. 
In  other  words,  the  feeling  of  satisfaction  in  the  process 
has  much  to  do  with  the  benefits  to  be  derived  from  that 
process.  The  recognition  of  this  fact  in  physical  hygiene 
results  in  prescribing  laughter  as  a  sauce  to  dyspeptic  pa- 
tients, but  the  part  that  mood  and  feeling  and  instinct  play 
in  school  life  and  in  mental  hygiene  is  often  utterly  dis- 
regarded. Instead  of  desire,  feeling,  laughter,  and  joy  of 
attack,  the  pedagogue  offers  duty  and  formalism. 


FORMALISM  AND  CHILD  PERSONALITY      309 

Now  a  child's  sense  of  duty  is  a  hard  sense  to  localize.  \ 
It  will  not  be  found  functioning  with  his  sense  of  sight, 
touch,  smell,  or  taste.  It  is  not  instinctive  or  fundamental, 
like  running,  jumping,  building,  drawing.  Let  duty  grow 
of  itself  out  of  love,  joy,  achievement,  experimentation,  and 
experience. 

It  is  the  boast  of  schools  that  everything  goes  like  clock- 
work. Such  formalistic  uniformity  and  concerted  action 
are  foreign  to  the  grace,  spontaneity,  and  individuality  of 
childhood.  Children  who  grow  up  under  such  systematized 
direction  are  denied  the  very  essence  of  mental  growth, 
which  depends  upon  original,  constructive  effort.  The 
child  mind  loses  its  power  to  organize,  and  becomes  as  in- 
consequent as  an  atrophied  muscle.  Nature  endowed  the 
six-year-old  child  with  an  impulse  to  investigate,  pry  into, 
and  discover.  Some  primary  schools  are  veritable  tombs  of 
deadened  curiosity  and  initiative. 

What  does  the  six-year-old  child  care  for  print?  His 
ringers  are  itching  for  contact  with  things,  and  his  legs 
are  set  for  chasing  butterflies.  Too  much  formalism  in 
childhood  kills  spontaneity  and  interest.  Education  can- 
not, by  formulating  courses  of  study,  force  intellectual 
functions.  The  laws  which  govern  the  growth  of  mind  are 
as  immediate  and  irresistible  in  their  operation  as  those 
which  govern  the  growth  of  the  body.  If  we  force  either  the 
one  or  the  other,  personality  is  foiled.  Let  us,  by  putting 
faith  in  instinctive  impulses,  conserve  more  of  childhood 
to  the  race. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

CHILDHOOD  THE   FOUNDATION  OF  YOUTH 

Jane  Addams  has  just  written  a  book  which  has  been 
heralded  as  a  classic.  In  many  beautiful  sentences  which 
are  uncommonly  pregnant  with  truth,  because  they  are  born 
of  actual  contact  with  the  deepest  realities  of  life,  she  de- 
fends and  glorifies  the  spirit  of  youth  and  "  its  immemorial 
ability  to  reaffirm  the  charm  of  existence."  In  the  words 
of  one  of  her  reviewers,  "  It  is  as  if  the  Lady  Abbess  of 
Chicago,  with  gently  entreating  eyes,  held  out  to  us  the  key 
to  those  cloistered  recesses  in  youthful  hearts  where  nature 
stores  the  elements  of  human  destiny."  All  of  us  who  have 
to  do  with  education  need  to  learn  these  keys,  —  the 
primary-school  teacher  as  well  as  the  high-school  principal 
who  always  talked  about  keeping  quiet  in  the  halls  and 
never  about  life,  —  for  the  spirit  of  youth  is  not  something 
altogether  independent  of  the  spirit  of  childhood. 

In  every  youth  the  experiences  of  adolescence  will  be 
modified  by  those  of  boyhood  and  girlhood,  and  the  richer, 
the  deeper  the  child  has  lived,  the  less  revolutionary  and 
disturbing  will  be  the  experiences  of  youth.  The  best 
foundation  for  a  balanced  idealistic  adolescence  is  a  full- 
filled  childhood,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  the  primary 
school  has  a  share  in  perpetuating  and  nourishing  that 
divine  fire  of  youth  "  which  is  so  vivid  an  element  in  life 
that  unless  it  is  cherished  all  is  spoiled."  Let  us  agree 
that  the  spirit  of  youth  is  of  all  things  the  finest  in  the 
world,  but  let  us  remember  that  the  child  is  father  of  the 

310 


CHILDHOOD  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  YOUTH     311 

youth.  To  save  to  the  world  the  best  in  youth  we  must 
begin  by  conserving  the  best  in  childhood. 

G.  Stanley  Hall  has  emphasized  the  differences  between 
the  periods  of  childhood  and  adolescence.  We  are  told 
that  the  former,  especially  between  the  ages  of  nine  and 
twelve,  is  a  period  of  relative  stability,  of  independence, 
and  of  mechanical  interests,  —  the  golden  age  of  memory 
and  habituation.  It  would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  extend 
this  characterization  back  to  the  primary-school  age,  which, 
instead  of  being  marked  by  stability  and  susceptibility  to 
drill  and  discipline,  is  naturally  full  of  the  change  and  spirit 
of  adolescence.  It  is  perhaps  a  nodal  point  in  development 
in  somewhat  the  same  sense  as  adolescence,  and,  like  it,  is 
fraught  with  deep  potentiality.  A  summary  of  its  psycho- 
logical traits  would  reveal  many  interesting  parallelisms 
between  the  two  epochs. 

After  all,  the  primary-school  child  is  himself  very  much  of 
a  burgeoning  youth,  only  smaller  and  somewhat  less  romantic. 
He  too  is  naturally  full  of  ardor  and  creative  enthusiasm, 
"  of  beauty,  variety,  and  suggestion."  He  too  has  spirit 
and  is  decidedly  more  than  an  unlettered  youngster  wait- 
ing with  docility  to  learn  the  technique  of  culture,  on 
the  promise  that  it  will  be  useful  in  later  maturity.  He 
has  individuality,  artistic  temperament,  and  sense  of  per- 
sonality. If  we  only  understood  him,  he  is  saying,  "  Lo, 
I  am  here,  too,  and  must  be  reckoned  with."  He  is  full 
of  the  joy  of  life  and  as  impatient  of  dull  routine  as  the 
spirited  adolescent,  though  his  rebellions  are  not  as  drastic 
and  dramatic. 

It  is  easier  to  say  than  to  enact,  but  the  truth  remains 
that  the  first  duty  of  school  and  state  is  to  preserve  his  joy  of 
life.  Teachers  should  convince  the  child  that  life  is  beautiful. 
The  primary-school  child  comes  to  school  with  the  belief 


312        THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILD  LIFE 

that  work  is  as  lovely  as  play.  See  the  zeal  and  pride  with 
which  he  attacks  his  first  intellectual  problems,  and  the 
languor  and  discontent  with  which  he  often  finishes  them. 
Why  is  this  ?  Why  has  the  eager,  buoyant  first-grade  child 
often  become  the  so-called  lazy  incorrigible  of  the  grammar 
grades  ?  What  has  become  of  the  pride  in  work,  the  eager- 
ness to  help,  the  dominating  curiosity,  and  the  warm,  un- 
selfish affection  for  teacher  and  school  ?  Why  have  these 
deep  instincts  been  strangled  in  their  very  birth  ?  Why 
have  they  not  been  preserved  to  brighten  and  inspire  the 
effort  of  his  later  years  ?  Chiefly  because  school  work  loses 
almost  immediately  its  intimate,  human  touch.  It  is  sepa- 
rated from  all  emotional  incentive  and  becomes  the  dry  tedium 
of  accumulating  facts.  Work  is  purposely  made  unlovely, 
too  often  associated  with  silence,  punishment,  and  failure, 
while  teachers  emphasize  false  distinctions  between  it  and 
play.  Work  and  play,  prescription  and  freedom,  soon  take 
sides  against  each  other,  and  the  child  begins  to  show  a 
preference ;  yet  when  he  plays  he  works  the  hardest.  Teachers 
have  a  puritanical  habit  of  making  work  a  duty  and  play 
a  privilege.  The  gospel  of  the  schools  should  be  that  work 
is  lovely,  that  work  is  a  privilege,  that  work  makes  use  of 
imagination,  self-expression,  and  joyous  cooperation,  and 
gives  the  individual  a  personal  power.  This  will  be  accom- 
plished only  by  changing  the  atmosphere  of  the  school- 
room or  workshop,  by  loosening  the  reins,  humanizing  the 
motives,  and  letting  in  some  of  the  charm  and  personal  con- 
tact that  you  meet  in  a  studio  where  artists  gather  together 
to  do  creative  work. 

It  is  of  supreme  importance  that  we  preserve  healthy, 
eager  attitudes.  The  child's  emotional  appreciation  of  life 
will  be  the  foundation  for  the  visions  of  his  youth.  From 
imitative  play,  friendly  cooperation,  and  dramatic  rehearsal 


CHILDHOOD  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  YOUTH     313 

of  life  as  he  sees  it,  he  will  pass  into  ardent  longings  for 
life  as  it  should  be.  But  the  seeds  of  such  victory  are  not 
sown  in  languor  or  silent  inhibition,  but  in  active,  construc- 
tive daily  living  which  awakens  and  makes  use  of  the  whole 
capacity  of  the  child. 

It  is  our  duty  to  plant  the  seeds  of  victory.  The  fires  of 
youth  burn  with  a  peculiar  intensity.  "  The  blooming  sus- 
ceptibility of  sex  "  makes  the  very  blood  press  harder  and 
hotter  in  the  arteries.  Everywhere,  but  especially  in  the 
factory  and  the  street  of  the  industrial  city,  is  adolescence 
liable  to  storm,  uncertainty,  and  perversion. 

Primary-school  teachers  should  begin  to  change  the  tra- 
dition of  the  streets  by  educating  the  child's  capacity  for 
healthy  recreation  ;  but  she  cannot  do  this  if  all  her  time  is 
given  to  reading  and  writing.  She  must  make  room  for  more 
self-expression  along  motor  lines  in  handwork  and  games. 
She  must  not  merely  teach  new  words,  but  she  must  educate 
a  taste  for  literature.  She  must,  through  dramatic  play  and 
social  cooperation,  organize  the  emotional  life  of  the  chil- 
dren. Organization  of  the  emotions,  the  culture  of  the 
imagination,  and  the  creation  of  compelling  interests  will 
be  a  safeguard  against  garish  penny  shows,  and  will  start 
in  their  place  wholesome  occupations  for  leisure  hours.  We 
are  suffering  as  a  people  to-day  because  we  cannot  spend 
our  leisure  except  in  excitement.  The  true  and  deeper  things 
of  life  lie  untouched  by  the  majority  of  people.  When  re- 
sourcefulness in  both  work  and  play  have  been  developed, 
the  battle  of  youth  is  already  half  won. 

Humanitarian  ideals  of  social  service  are  the  glory  and 
safety  of  youth,  but  we  must  provide  hospitable  soil  for 
these  ideals  by  fostering  the  social  instincts  of  childhood. 
Children  in  the  primary  school  are  not  allowed  to  exchange 
ideas,  communicate  interests,  or  give  help  to  one  another ; 


314   THE  CONSERVATION  OF  CHILDHOOD 

we  cannot  afford  to  penalize  them  if  they  speak  to  a  neigh- 
bor, or  punish  them  on  the  ground  of  cheating  if  they  show 
a  friend  how  to  do  a  piece  of  work.  The  first  lessons  in 
altruism  can  begin  early. 

Purity  is  another  ideal  which  we  expect  of  youth  but  do 
not  provide  for  in  the  years  before  the  full  seed  of  the  corn. 
This  ideal  should  not  be  forged  in  the  white  heat  of  blind, 
heroic  determination,  but  should  be  the  outgrowth  of  years 
of  accumulating  acquaintance  with  nature's  open  secrets 
about  plants  and  animals,  about  birth,  heredity,  infancy, 
and  parenthood.  A  reverent  contact  with  and  wholesome 
insight  into  the  elemental  facts  of  sex  may  even  begin  with 
the  study  of  nature  in  the  primary  school.  In  varied,  subtle 
ways  we  can  prepare  the  youth  to  look  upon  the  grail  of 
life's  reality. 

Childhood  is  the  gateway  to  a  larger  experience,  and  the 
path  over  which  the  child  is  led  broadens  into  the  great 
highway  over  which  the  youth  must  walk  alone.  Here  will 
be  enacted  the  drama  of  the  soul.  Here  will  the  child,  now 
a  youth,  meet  spiritual  triumph  or  sordid  defeat;  but  if  in 
childhood  the  beauty  of  life  and  its  freshness  have  been 
preserved  to  him,  he  will  carry  the  blossoms  of  imagination 
and  the  fragrance  of  happy  hours  to  guide  the  ardent  feet 
of  youth  into  clean,  cool  places. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

This  is  only  a  brief  and  selected  bibliography.  Readers  who  wish  to 
extend  the  list  of  titles  will  find  further  bibliographies  in  the  references 
starred  (*) .  Dr.  Louis  N.  Wilson,  librarian  at  Clark  University,  Worcester, 
Massachusetts,  has  published  "A  Bibliography  of  Child  Study"  annu- 
ally since  1898  in  the  Pedagogical  Seminary.  See  also  "A  Bibliography 
of  the  Biological  Aspects  of  Education,"  by  Professor  Will  Grant  Cham- 
bers, State  Normal  School,  Greeley,  Colorado. 

PART  ONE 

DARWIN,  CHARLES.  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Charles  Darwin,  includ- 
ing an  autobiographical  chapter.  D.  Appleton  and  Company. 
New  York. 

A  fascinating  book  with  many  suggestions  for  teachers. 

FOSTER,  MICHAEL.  Lectures  on  the  History  of  Physiology  during 
the  sixteenth,  seventeenth,  and  eighteenth  centuries.  Cambridge, 
1901.  310  pages. 

Full  of  rare  facts.   The  style  is  interesting. 

HUGHES,  JAMES  L.    Dickens   as   an   Educator.   New  York,   1901. 

319  pages. 
Contains  many  quotations  from  Dickens's  works. 

LECKY,  W.  E.  H.  History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence  of  the  Spirit  of 
Rationalism  in  Europe.  New  York,  1873. 

Two  volumes  in  which  will  be  found  an  animated  discussion  of  the  doc- 
trine of  child  depravity. 

*LocY,  W.  A.  Biology  and  its  Makers.  Henry  Holt  and  Company. 
New  York,  1908.  469  pages. 

A  very  readable,  personal  account  of  the  history  of  biology,  with  portraits 
and  other  illustrations. 

Proceedings  of  the   Child  Conferences  for  Research  and  Welfare. 

G.  E.  Stechert  &  Co.   New  York,  1909. 
Contains  scores  of  short  papers  dealing  with  every  phase  of  child- welfare 

activity. 

315 


316  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

*SPARGO,  JOHN.  The  Bitter  Cry  of  the  Children.  The  Macmillan 
Company.  New  York,  1906.  337  pages. 

A  very  readable  account  of  recent  humanitarian  efforts  to  improve  the 
condition  of  the  school  child,  the  working  child,  and  the  infants  of 
large  cities. 

WHITE,  ANDREW  D.  A  History  of  the  Warfare  of  Science  with  Theol- 
ogy in  Christendom.  New  York,  1897.  Two  Volumes. 

PART  TWO 

BOLSCHE,  WILHELM.  The  Evolution  of  Man.  Charles  H.  Kerr  and 
Company.  Chicago,  1906.  160  pages. 

A  very  simple  summary,  which  traces  the  stages  of  evolution  backward 
to  the  simplest  forms. 

*BOLTON,  FREDERICK  E.  Principles  of  Education.  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons.  New  York,  1910.  781  pages. 

A  book  which  brings  together  a  large  quantity  of  material  in  the  scien- 
tific study  of  education  from  the  psychological  and  biological  points  of 
view. 

*BORGQVIST,  ALVIN.  Crying.  American  Journal  of  Psychology, 
Worcester,  April,  1906,  Vol.  XVII,  pp.  149-205. 

BURK,  FREDERICK.  From  Fundamental  to  Accessory  in  the  Devel- 
opment of  the  Nervous  System.  Pedagogical  Seminary,  October, 
1898,  Vol.  VI,  pp.  5-64. 

*CHAMBERLAIN,  ALEXANDER.  The  Child :  A  Study  in  the  Evolu- 
tion of  Man.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons.  New  York,  1901.  495  pages. 

Contains  a  wealth  of  information  on  the  language,  play,  arts,  etc.  of 
childhood,  and  their  relation  to  similar  expressions  in  primitive  man. 

CHAMBERLAIN,  ALEXANDER.  Work  and  Rest,  Genius  and  Stupidity. 
Popular  Science  Monthly,  March,  1902,  p.  413. 

DARWIN,  CHARLES.  Extracts  from  The  Origin  of  Species,  Life  and 
Letters,  The  Descent  of  Man,  A  Naturalist's  Voyage,  and  The 
Variation  of  Animals  and  Plants  under  Domestication,  with  bio- 
graphical and  critical  essay  by  E.  Ray  Lankester.  In  Warner's 
Library  of  the  World's  Best  Literature,  Vol.  VIII. 

GIBBS  AND  DELLINGER.  The  Daily  Life  of  Amoeba  Proteus. 
American  Journal  of  Psychology,  April,  1908,  Vol.  XIX,  p.  236. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  317 

HALL,  G.  STANLEY.  A  Glance  at  the  Phyletic  Background  of  Genetic 
Psychology.  The  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  April,  1908, 
Vol.  XIX,  pp.  149-212. 

* JORDAN  AND  KELLOGG.  Evolution  and  Animal  Life.  New  York, 
1907.  489  pages. 

A  well-illustrated  elementary  discussion  of  facts,  processes,  laws,  and 
theories  relating  to  the  life  and  evolution  of  animals.  An  excellent 
introduction  to  the  subject. 

KEANE,  AUGUSTUS  H.    Man,  Past  and   Present.    Cambridge,  1899. 

584  pages. 
Discusses  the  origins  of  the  human  race  in  general  and  its  subdivisions. 

KEANE,  AUGUSTUS  H.  The  World's  Peoples.  G.P.Putnam's  Sons. 
London,  1908.  434  pages. 

A  popular  account  of  the  bodily  and  mental  characteristics,  beliefs,  tra- 
ditions, and  political  and  social  institutions  of  man.  270  illustrations. 

KELLER,  HELEN.    The  World  I  live  in.    The  Century  Company. 

New  York,  1909.  195  pages. 
A  beautifully  written  book,  full  of  hints  on  the  psychology  of  perception. 

KIRKPATRICK,  EDWIN  A.  Genetic  Psychology  :  An  introduction  to 
an  objective  and  genetic  view  of  intelligence.  The  Macmillan 
Company.  New  York,  1909.  373  pages. 

MACDOUGALL,  ROBERT.  The  Significance  of  the  Hand  in  the  Evo- 
lution of  Mind.  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  Vol.  XVI,  pp. 
232-243. 

McDouGALL,  WILLIAM.  An  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology. 
John  W.  Luce  and  Company.  Boston,  1909.  355  pages. 

A  good  and  somewhat  new  discussion  of  human  instincts  and  their  rela- 
tion to  social  conduct. 

•MANGOLD,  GEORGE  B.   Child  Problems.  The  Macmillan  Company. 

New  York,  1910.   381  pages. 
Gives  a  general  view  of  the  principal  child  problems  of  to-day. 

MORGAN,  C.  LLOYD.  An  Introduction  to  Comparative  Psychology: 
London,  1900.  382  pages. 

This  book  and  another,  "Animal  Behaviour,"  by  the  same  author,  though 
they  deal  with  the  subjects  of  instinct  and  intelligence  in  the  lower 
animals,  are  full  of  concrete  psychology  suggestive  to  teachers. 


318  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

t 

ROBINSON,  Louis.  Wild  Traits  in  Tame  Animals.  Blackwood. 
London,  1897.  329  pages. 

This  is  a  charming  book,  full  of  interesting  animal  and  genetic  psychology. 
An  informal  but  effective  discussion  of  evolutionary  themes. 

*RUEDIGER,  WILLIAM  CARL.  The  Principles  of  Education. 
Houghton  Mifflin  Company.  Boston,  1910.  305  pages. 

Brings  together  and  organizes  leading  tendencies  in  modern  educational 
thought  pertaining  to  the  bases,  aims,  values,  and  essential  content 
of  education. 

*SMITH,  THEODATE  L.  Obstinacy  and  Obedience :  A  study  in  the 
psychology  and  pedagogy  of  the  will.  Pedagogical  Seminary, 
March,  1905,  Vol.  XII,  pp.  27-54. 

*THORNDIKE,  EDWARD  LEE.  The  Elements  of  Psychology.  A.  G. 
Seller.  New  York,  1905.  351  pages. 

Contains  a  very  clear,  concise  description  of  the  nervous  system. 

*TYLER,  JOHN  MASON.  Growth  and  Education.  Houghton  Mifflin 
Company.  Boston,  1907.  291  pages. 

Probably  the  best  little  single  volume  on  the  biological  and  physiological 
basis  of  education.  Bibliography  unusually  good. 

WILDER,  HARRIS  II.  History  of  the  Human  Body.  II.  Holt  and 
Company.  New  York,  1909.  573  pages. 

A  very  valuable  illustrated  account  of  the  genesis  of  the  human  skeleton, 
muscular  system,  nervous  system,  etc.  in  terms  of  embryology  and 
comparative  anatomy. 

WITHER,  LIGHTNER.  A  Monkey  with  a  Mind.  The  Psychological 
Clinic,  December,  1909,  pp.  179-206. 

PART  THREE 

*BRYANT,  SARA  CONE.    How  to  tell  Stories  to  Children.    Houghton 

Mifflin  Company.    Boston,  1905.    260  pages. 
/ 

DOPP,  KATHERINE  E.  The  Place  of  Industries  in  Elementary  Edu- 
cation. Chicago,  1903.  280  pages. 

Shows  some  of  the  relations  between  child  handwork  and  primitive 
industries. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  319 

*GULICK,  LUTHER  H.  The  Healthful  Art  of  Dancing.  Doubleday, 
Page  and  Company.  New  York,  1910.  271  pages. 

This  book  discusses  the  psychology  and  hygiene  of  dancing.  Deals  with 
the  folk  dance  especially.  The  appendix  has  a  useful  list  of  practical 
references. 

*HALL,  G.  STANLEY  (and  Some  of  his  Pupils).  Aspects  of  Child 
Life.  Ginn  and  Company.  Boston,  1907.  326  pages. 

Subjects  treated  :  contents  of  children's  minds,  day  dreams,  curiosity, 
dolls,  collecting,  ownership,  fetichism,  boy  life  forty  years  ago. 

v/  HALL,  G.  STANLEY.   Youth,  its  Education,  Regimen  and  Hygiene. 
D.  Appleton  and  Company.    New  York,  1908.   379  pages. 

Selections  from  the  larger  two-volume  work  "Adolescence."  Treats 
handwork,  play,  and  the  period  of  preadolescence. 

HODGE,  CLIFTON  F.  Nature  Study  and  Life.  Ginn  and  Company. 
Boston. 

Describes  the  life  stories  of  plants  and  animals  and  relates  these  stories 
to  the  life  of  man. 

*HUEY,  EDWARD  B.  The  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Reading. 
The  Macmillan  Company.  New  York,  1908.  469  pages. 

Includes  a  review  of  the  history  of  reading  and  writing  and  of  methods, 
texts,  and  hygiene  in  reading. 

v/  *JOHNSON,  GEORGE  ELLSWORTH.    Education  by  Plays  and  Games. 

Ginn  and  Company.   Boston,  1907.   234  pages. 

An  extremely  practical  book,  describing  hundreds  of  plays  and  games 
and  grading  them  with  reference  to  periods  of  development  in 
childhood. 

LUKENS,  H.  T.  Children's  Drawings  in  Early  Years.  Pedagogical 
Seminary,  1896,  pp.  79-110. 

V  MACCLINTOCK,  PORTER  LANDER.  Literature  in  the  Elementary 
School.  The  University  of  Chicago  Press.  Chicago,  1907.  305 
pages. 

This  book  discusses  various  types  of  children's  literature  and  appends  a 
course  in  literature  for  the  elementary  school. 

SCOTT,  COLIN  A.  Social  Education.  Ginn  and  Company.  Boston, 
1908.  300  pages. 

Deals  with  self-organized  and  other  group  activity  in  the  elementary 
school. 


320  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

SYLVESTER,  C.  H.  Journeys  through  Bookland.  Ten  volumes,  with 
a  manual  for  teachers.  Bellows  and  Reeve.  Chicago. 

This  is  an  attractive,  well  edited,  graded  collection  of  literature  for  chil- 
dren. Mother  Goose  and  humor  are  well  represented. 

*TANNER,  AMY  ELIZA.  The  Child :  His  Thinking,  Feeling  and 
Doing.  Rand,  McNally  and  Company.  New  York,  1904.  430  pages. 

A  good  summary  of  the  important  topics  in  child  study,  including  chap- 
ters on  imagination,  interests,  emotions,  imitation,  language,  music, 
drawing,  play.  List  of  references  after  each  chapter. 

The  following  periodicals  contain  scattered  articles  on  the  various 

subjects  of  the  primary-school  curriculum  : 

The  Elementary  School  Teacher.  Published  monthly  by  The  University 
of  Chicago. 

The  Psychological  Clinic.  Published  by  Lightner  Witmer,  Phila- 
delphia, Pennsylvania. 

This  is  a  useful,  nontechnical  illustrated  magazine,  devoted  particularly 
to  the  training  of  the  special  child. 

The  Teachers  College  Record.  Published  monthly  at  Columbia  Uni- 
versity, New  York. 

The  Training  School.  Published  monthly  by  the  New  Jersey  Training 
School  for  Feeble-minded  Girls  and  Boys,  Vineland,  New  Jersey. 

A  practical  little  magazine,  especially  valuable  for  teachers  of  special 
classes  in  public  schools.  It  frequently  describes  concrete,  individual 
cases. 

PART  FOUR 

(/    ADDAMS,  JANE.    The  Spirit  of  Youth  and  the  City  Streets.    New 
York,  1909.  162  pages. 

ALLEN,  WILLIAM  H.  Civics  and  Health.  Ginn  and  Company.  Boston, 
1909.  411  pages. 

Deals  with  the  social  sides  of  the  health  question,  with  special  reference 
to  the  health  of  children.  Good  reading  for  those  interested  in  initiat- 
ing medical  inspection.  Contains  many  illustrations. 

*AYRES,  LEONARD  P.  Open-Air  Schools.  New  York,  1910.  171  pages. 

A  practical  illustrated  volume. 

*BURNHAM,  WILLIAM  H.    Articles  on   the    Hygiene  of   the  Nose, 

Teeth,     Home     Study,     Spelling,     etc.     Pedagogical     Seminary, 

Worcester,  Vols.  XII-XVII. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  321 

BURNHAM,   WILLIAM    H.    The    Hygiene   of    Physical   Education. 

American  Physical  Education  Review,  Springfield,  Mass.,  Vol.  XIV. 

[Reprint  30  cents.] 
CLOUSTON,  THOMAS.  S.   The  Hygiene  of  Mind.  New  York,  1907. 

284  pages. 
COLVIN,  STEPHEN.    The  Educational  Value  of  Humor.    Pedagogical 

Seminary,  December,  1907,  p.  517. 

CRAMPTON,  D.  WARD.  The  Influence  of  Physiological  Age  on  Schol- 
arship.   Psychological  Clinic,  June,  1907,  Vol  I,  pp.  115-121. 
FOR  EL,  AUGUSTE.    Hygiene  of    Nerves  and   Mind  in    Health    and 

Disease  (translated  from    the  German   by  H.  A.  Ackins).    G.  P. 

Putnam's  Sons.   New  York,  1907.   343  pages. 
GULICK  AND  AYRES.    Medical  Inspection  of  Schools.    New  York, 

1909. 

Furnishes  necessary  information  for  teachers  and  school  boards  who  wish 
to  introduce  medical  inspection. 

KELYNACK,  T.  N.  Medical  Examination  of  Schools  and  Scholars. 
P.  S.  King  and  Son.  London,  1910.  434  pages. 

A  valuable,  unique  volume  presenting  the  experience  and  views  of 
thirty-six  contributors  from  several  countries. 

KEY,  ELLEN.  The  Century  of  the  Child.  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.  1909. 
339  pages. 

Treats  of  child  labor,  soul  murder  in  the  schools,  the  right  of  the  child 
to  choose  his  parents,  the  unborn  race  and  woman's  work.  This  book 
has  had  an  enormous  circulation,  especially  throughout  the  countries 
of  Europe. 

KLINE,  LINUS  W.  The  Psychology  of  Humor.   The  American  Journal 

of  Psychology,  October  1907,  p.  421. 
*MISAWA,  TADASU.  Modern  Educators  and  their  Ideals.  D.  Appleton 

and  Company.  New  York,  1909.  304  pages. 

An  excellent  summary  of  the  educational  views  of  great  modern 
philosophers  and  reformers,  including  Pestalozzi,  Froebel,  W.  T.  Harris, 
and  G.  Stanley  Hall. 

SWIFT,  EDGAR  JAMES.    Mind  in  the  Making.    Charles  Scribner's  JL 
Sons.  New  York,  1908.  329  pages. 

A  plea  for  the  personal  element  in  teaching,  as  opposed  to  "  school-master- 
ing education."  Discusses  nervous  disturbances  of  development. 


APPENDIX 

THE  MONTESSORI  KINDERGARTEN 
I.   NOTE  AND  REFERENCES 

We  add  this  appendix  with  some  hesitation.  After  our  book 
was  ready  for  the  press  we  became  interested  in  the  accounts  of 
Dr.  Maria  Montessori's  work  and  the  American  reception  of  her 
much-heralded  methods.  There  is  the  usual  danger  that  such 
methods,  because  they  have  taken  a  concrete  form  in  merchant- 
able apparatus,  will  be  taken  over  in  an  ill-considered  and  half- 
considered  manner. 

While  the  Montessori  Kindergarten,  with  its  social  features 
and  its  modern  expressions  of  Froebel's  philosophy  and  of 
Seguin's  pedagogy,  must  surely  have  something  to  teach  us,  a 
precipitous  adoption  of  the  didactic  apparatus  all  out  of  its 
natural  setting  and  needed  support  will  have  possibilities  of 
harm  as  well  as  of  good.  The  Montessori  ideas  should  at  least 
go  through  a  period  of  slow,  adaptive  naturalization,  instead 
of  being  welcomed  with  an  emotional  readiness  that  promises 
to  make  Montessorianism  a  new  cult. 

We  have  attempted  a  preliminary  critique  of  the  pedagogi- 
cal aspects  of  the  Montessori  Kindergarten,  calling  attention 
only  to  its  serious  sociological  implications.  We  have  gone  as 
close  to  the  original  sources  as  the  circumstances  permitted, 
and  give  below  the  references  consulted. 

MONTESSORI,  MARIA.  77  metodo  della  pedagoyia  scientifica,  appli- 
cato  all'  educazione  infantile  nelle  case  del  bambini.  Castello,  S.  Lapi ; 
Rome,  M.  Bretschneider,  1909. 

"  Montessori's  Rediscovery  of  the  Ten  Fingers,"  Current  Literature, 
October,  1911. 

323 


324  APPENDIX 

MAY,  MAUDE  G.  "The  Montessori  Method,"  The  London  Journal 
of  Education,  September,  1909. 

REEDER,  R.  R.  "The  Montessori  Method  of  Educating  Children," 
Survey,  January  20,  1912. 

SMITH,  THEODATE  L.  "  Dr.  Maria  Montessori  and  her  Houses  of 
Childhood,"  Pedagogical  Seminary,  December,  1911. 

STEVENS,  ELLEN  Y.  "Montessori  and  Froebel  —  A  Comparison," 
The  Elementary  School  Teacher,  February,  1912. 

,/  TOZIER,  JOSEPHINE.  "Maria  Montessori's  Methods,"  McClure's 
Magazine,  May,  1911 ;  "The  Montessori  Schools  in  Rome,"  McClure's 
Magazine,  December,  1911  ;  "  The  Montessori  Apparatus,"  McClure's 
Magazine,  January,  1912. 

II.    HISTORY  OP  THE  MONTESSORI  SYSTEM 

The  historical  origins  of  the  Montessori  Kindergarten  are 
interesting  and  help  us  to  understand  its  meaning.  In  1906- 
1908  a  real-estate  society,  VIstituto  di  Beni  Stabill,  inter- 
ested in  the  social  betterment  of  the  poor  population  of  Rome, 
established  four  home  schools,  or  nursery  kindergartens,  in 
connection  with  a  group  of  tenement  houses  under  the  manage- 
ment of  the  society.  Maria  Montessori,  M.  D.,  was  chosen  to 
direct  these  now  famous  Case  del  Bambini,  or  Houses  of 
Childhood.  Here  she  found  ideal  opportunities  to  conduct 
her  original  experiments  and  to  develop  her  system  of  auto- 
education. 

The  control  of  these  tenement  kindergartens  logically  fell  to 
Madame  Montessori,  who  was  both  a  dottoressa  and  a  profes- 
soressa,  being  the  first  woman  to  receive  a  medical  degree  from 
the  University  of  Rome  and  later  a  lecturer  on  the  education 
of  the  feeble-minded  at  Turin  and  at  Rome.  She  has  also  been 
assistant  of  the  Psychiatrical  Clinic  at  the  University  of  Rome, 
Director  of  the  Scuola  Magistrate  Ortofrenica  (for  subnormal 
children),  and  a  student  of  anthropological  pedagogy  and  experi- 
mental psychology.  In  addition  to  her  scientific  perception  of 
education,  Dr.  Montessori  has  a  warm  interest  in  social  prob- 
lems, and  her  work  must  be  regarded  from  the  social  as  well 
as  from  the  pedagogical  standpoint. 


APPENDIX  325 

The  "  Montessori  Method  "  has  been  adopted  in  two  schools 
in  Milan  and  in  the  Asili  d'Infanzia  of  Italian  Switzerland, 
where  it  is  reported  to  be  displacing  the  Froebelian  system 
which  formerly  held  sway. 

So  we  have  here  to  reckon  with  a  new  kindergarten,  which 
may  come  in  conflict  with  the  old.  In  what  sense  is  it  new  ? 

Over  a  hundred  years  ago  lived  the  great  educator  who,  also, 
had  an  Italian  name,  Pestalozzi,  and  who,  also,  was  concerned 
with  the  problem  of  the  home.  For  over  half  a  century  he 
labored  to  simplify,  to  mechanize,  to  psychologize  education, 
and  sought  "to  render  the  ordinary  means  of  instruction  so 
simple  as  to  permit  of  their  being  employed  in  every  family." 
The  same  mechanistic  tendencies  are  present  in  Montessori's 
autoeducation  system,  but  in  the  presence  of  the  tall  tene- 
ments of  the  Italian  ghetto  she  has  reversed  Pestalozzi's  dream. 
"Let  us,"  she  says,  "place  the  school  in  the  home;  not  only 
that,  but  let  us  place  it  there  as  a  collective  property,  and 
let  us  place  under  the  eyes  of  parents  the  entire  life  of  the 
teacher,  in  the  accomplishment  of  her  high  mission  "  (II  metodo 
della  pedagogia  scientifica,  p.  45).  This  is  the  social  peda- 
gogy of  Montessori,  "  which  solves  the  social  and  pedagogical 
problems  which  seemed  impossible,  and  takes  part  in  the  mod- 
ern transformation  of  the  home."  Just  as  we  have  socialized 
dwellings,  water  supply,  laundry,  medicine,  etc.,  so  we  must 
"socialize  the  maternal  function"  through  the  kindergarten,  as 
a  school  in  direct  physical  connection  with  the  home.  We  make 
a  mistake  when  we  identify  the  name  of  Montessori  with  di- 
dactic apparatus  only.  She  is  to  publish  a  volume  on  the 
Casa  dei  Bambini  come  Scuola  in  Casa,  "The  House  of  Child- 
hood as  a  School  in  the  Home."  Her  original  kindergartens  at 
Rome  are  literally  nursery  schools  in  the  home. 

Froebel  was  the  founder  of  the  modern  kindergarten,  of 
both  its  nursery  and  its  pedagogical  features.  We  find  in  his 
writings  and  methods  the  equivalent  of  many  of  Dr.  Montes- 
sori's ideas.  Much  of  the  rhythm,  game,  and  occupation  activi- 
ties of  the  houses  of  childhood  are  found  in  the  Froebelian 


326  APPENDIX 

gardens  of  childhood,  and  even  the  didactic  sense  material  of 
Montessori  has  something  in  common  with  Froebel's  graduated 
gifts.  Dr.  Montessori's  makes  it  clear,  however,  that  she  does 
not  approve  a  wooden  use  of  such  material,  and  that  she  would 
impose  no  arbitrary  sequence  of  tasks  or  plays  from  without. 
She  and  Froebel  alike  emphasize  the  immortal  principle  of  self- 
activity.  Dr.  Montessori  calls  it  the  principle  of  autoeducation, 
and  has  invented  for  its  expression,  not  ten  gifts,  but  an  elab- 
orate system  of  some  eleven  hundred  pieces  of  autosensorial 
didactic  apparatus. 

Not  from  Froebel,  but  from  Itard  and  Seguin,  did  Dr.  Mon- 
tessori gain  her  inspiration  for  the  methods  of  autosensorial 
education.  She  regards  her  work  as  the  continuation  of  the 
efforts  of  these  two  French  physicians  —  "  my  illustrious  prede- 
cessors "  —  and  is  generous  in  the  recognition  of  their  sugges- 
tive endeavors  in  the  education  of  defectives.  In  1801  Dr.  Itard 
published  his  account  of  "  The  Education  of  a  Human  Savage," 
the  savage  of  Aveyron,  the  idiot  child  whom  hunters  had  found 
roaming  wild  in  the  woods.  In  1864  Dr.  E.  Seguin  published 
his  classic  treatise  on  "  Idiocy,  its  Diagnosis  and  Treatment 
by  the  Physiological  Method."  Seguin  for  the  first  time  clearly 
demonstrated  the  organic  relation  between  sensory  and  intel- 
lectual development,  emphasizing  the  peculiar  importance  of 
touch  and  stereognosis.  He  introduced  into  the  training  of  the 
feeble-minded  the  use  of  geometric  insets  and  other  graduated 
sense  material.  Dr.  Montessori  has  elaborated  and  extended 
these  methods  to  the  education  of  normal  children.  Her  experi- 
ence was  first  with  the  subnormal,  and  her  conceptions  of 
education  bear  the  stamp  of  medicine  and  physiology,  and  of 
experimental  rather  than  genetic  psychology. 
i 

III.    THE  DIDACTIC  NURSERY 

The  original  Montessori  Casa  dei  Bambini  may  be  best  char- 
acterized as  a  nursery-kindergarten-school  in  the  home,  "  where 
children  from  four  to  five  years  old  read,  write,  and  do  number 


APPENDIX  327 

work  with  a  facility  equal  to  that  of  children  of  the  second 
and  third  grades."  How  completely  the  maternal  function  is 
socialized  in  such  a  pedagogical  nursery  is  well  shown  in  the 
following  regulations,  to  which  the  parents  must  prescribe. 

"  The  parents  of  children  attending  the  Casa  del  Bambini 
pay  no  contribution  whatever,  but  they  assume  these  impera- 
tive obligations  :  (A)  To  send  their  children  to  the  schoolroom 
at  a  specified  hour,  clean  in  person  and  clothing,  and  with  a 
suitable  pinafore.  (B)  To  show  the  greatest  respect  and  defer- 
ence toward  the  directress  and  all  other  persons  connected 
with  the  Casa  dei  Bambini,  and  to  cooperate  with  the  directress 
in  the  work  of  educating  their  children.  At  least  once  a  week 
mothers  will  be  able  to  speak  with  the  directress,  reporting 
observations  on  their  own  children  in  their  home  life,  and 
receiving  from  the  directress  notes  and  suggestions  for  the 
welfare  of  the  children. 

"  There  will  be  expelled  from  the  Casa  dei  Bambini  (a)  those 
who  present  themselves  in  an  unwashed  and  slovenly  condition, 
— (b)  those  who  show  themselves  not  amenable  to  discipline,  and 
(c)  those  whose  parents  fail  in  respect  to  those  placed  in  charge 
of  the  Casa  dei  Bambini,  or  in  any  way  threaten  to  destroy  by 
bad  conduct  the  educational  work  which  is  the  aim  of  the 
institution. 

"  Attention  must  be  paid  to  the  health  and  physical  and 
moral  development  of  the  children  by  means  of  lessons  and 
exercises  adapted  to  their  age. 

"  There  will  be  in  charge  of  each  Casa  dei  Bambini  a  direc- 
tress, a  physician,  and  a  caretaker.  All  children  in  the  block 
between  the  ages  of  three  and  seven  years  have  the  right  of 
admission  to  the  Casa  dei  Bambini." 

The  charming  pictures  of  the  Casa  dei  Bambini  at  Rome 
show  us  no  ill-lighted  schoolroom,  with  rows  of  desks,  "  de- 
signed to  permit  the  greatest  immobility,"  screwed  down  to 
the  floor.  We  see  happy  children  moving  freely  through  the 
large,  unconfined  spaces  of  garden  and  open-air  corridors.  They 
are  Claying  on  the  floor  or  working  at  movable  tables,  eating 


328  APPENDIX 

soup  at  a  luncheon  in  the  courtyard,  or  singing  an  Ave  Maria 
in  the  hall  of  a  roomy  cloister.  And  in  the  background  are 
the  figures  of  skillful  women,  —  physician,  directress,  care- 
taker, and  nuns,  —  who  are  guiding  this  happy,  spontaneous 
life.  The  pictures  are  full  of  refreshing  suggestions  of  health 
and  freedom. 

The  central  principle  of  the  Montessori  education  is  the 
widely  accepted  one  that  children  should  develop  freely  through 
their  own  spontaneous  energies  and  interests.  Dr.  Montessori's 
distinction  lies  in  the  fact  that  she  has  bravely  put  this  prin- 
ciple into  effect,  and  guarded,  at  the  same  time,  the  physical 
development  of  the  children.  "  The  children  are  left  free  to 
play  when  they  will  and  they  may  sleep  when  they  will." 

Dr.  T.  L.  Smith,  who  spent  a  day  at  one  of  the  schools,  says  : 
"  If  one  visits  one  of  Dr.  Montessori's  schools,  the  children  all 
seem  to  be  occupied  in  interesting  play.  Some  are  lying  on  the 
floor  playing  with  blocks  or  strips  of  wood  painted  in  different 
colors.  Some  are  playing  blindfold  games,  finding  out  by  the 
aid  of  their  fingers  alone  the  shapes  and  sizes  of  objects  and 
different  textures  of  silk,  satin,  wool,  or  linen.  .  .  .  But  the 
interest  and  attention  of  the  children  is  never  interfered  with. 
If  a  child  wishes  to  spend  the  entire  school  period  of  two  hours 
in  doing  one  thing,  he  is  allowed  to  do  so,  on  the  principle  that 
the  spontaneous  attention  is  a  fundamental  educative  principle 
which  must  not  be  interfered  with." 

Another  visitor,  Miss  Maude  G.  May,  testifies  likewise  :  "  No 
one  who  has  visited  any  of  the  Case  del  Bambini  can  fail  to 
have  been  struck  by  the  intelligence  of  the  children,  by  their 
frank,  simple  manners,  neither  forward  nor  shy,  by  the  atmos- 
phere of  happy  activity,  and  by  the  sense  of  discipline  that  is 
largely  voluntary  and  rises  out  of  this  same  activity." 

The  unthinking  person  alone  will  ascribe  these  excellent 
results  to  the  cunningly  contrived  didactive  apparatus,  which 
may  be  bought  over  a  counter.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
the  Montessori  Casa  is  a  school  in  the  home,  that  the  parent 
patrons  are  under  important  contract  regulations,  and  that  the 


APPENDIX  329 

children  are  under  continuous  skilled  supervision  for  many 
hours.  In  the  convent  on  the  Via  Giusti  they  are  detained 
from  nine  until  half  past  five,  that  is,  eight  hours  and  a  half, 
and  only  one  fourth  of  this  time  is  given  to  school  work.  Dr. 
Montessori  recommends  that  in  summer  the  hours  extend  from 
eight  until  six,  with  poor  children.  She  favors  these  long  hours 
because  they  permit  the  serving  of  luncheons  to  and  by  the 
children,  the  rest  and  play  periods,  and  the  attention  to  the 
physical  needs  of  the  pupils,  —  all  of  which  together  make 
the  brief  lesson  periods  apparently  so  productive  of  educational 
results.  A  day's  program  includes  "  the  exercises  of  practical 
life,"  like  dressing  and  undressing  (putting  on  the  clean  pina- 
fore) ;  washing  (the  children  wash  themselves) ;  dusting,  etc. ; 
inspection  of  teeth,  nails,  neck,  ears,  face,  shoes,  clothing ;  light 
gymnastic  exercises ;  singing,  dancing,  and  rhythm  work ;  in- 
struction in  walking,  sitting,  moving  carefully  about  the  furni- 
ture, climbing  the  stairs,  etc. ;  speech  exercises ;  luncheon,  when 
the  children  serve  the  soup,  carry  bowls,  wait  at  table,  and  wipe 
dishes  ;  playing  in  garden  ;  sleeping. 

Viewed  in  its  entirety,  then,  the  Casa  del  Bambini  means  an 
eight-hour  day  for  the  children,  under  the  socialized  maternal 
control  of  professionally  trained  women,  with  physician  and 
caretakers  assisting.  Reading  and  writing  are,  after  all,  an 
unimportant  feature  of  this  eight^hour  program,  when  com- 
pared with  the  hygienic  and  sociological  features  which  seem 
to  excite  little  attention.  When  we  consider  the  Italian  results 
and  the  American  possibilities  of  the  Montessori  method,  we 
must  not  attribute  to  the  didactic  material  the  large  moral  and 
motor  results  which  grow  out  of  a  free,  hygienic  environment 
and  the  power  of  superior  personalities. 

The  moment  that  one  reduces  any 'philosophy  of  education 
to  concrete,  graduated  material,  it  loses  the  unity  and  vital 
impulse  which  created  it,  and  invites  as  many  interpretations 
as  there  are  individuals  to  handle  it.  The  Montessori  system 
is  an  eight-hour  nursery-kindergarten-school,  and  not  a  set  of 
purchasable  didactic  apparatus. 


330  APPENDIX 

IV.    THE  WRITING  AND  READING  METHOD 

Teaching  the  kindergarten  children  to  write  has  been  called 
"the  most  striking  and  impressive  of  Montessori's  achieve- 
ments." The  accounts  of  this  particular  achievement  stir  the 
imagination.  We  read  of  "the  explosion  into  writing,"  the 
dramatic  discovery  of  the  method,  "  the  frenzy  of  writing 
which  attacked  and  spread  through  the  whole  group  of  chil- 
dren." Nearly  all  the  pupils  learn  penmanship  at  four,  and 
usually  it  takes  only  a  month  or  six  weeks  before  they  "  burst 
forth  into  writing." 

Unthinking  people  seize  upon  this  achievement  as  the  most 
important  contribution  of  the  Montessori  education.  It  has 
been  overadvertised  and  so  "  overheralded  "  that  we  are  left 
with  the  impression  that  American  children  can  learn  to  write 
with  ease  and  economy  only  by  the  Montessori  devices.  Does 
this  necessarily  follow? 

In  the  first  place,  Montessori  makes  penmanship  a  kinder- 
garten occupation.  A  few  years  ago  we  were  advised,  on  hygi- 
enic grounds,  that  children  should  not  be  taught  reading  and 
writing  until  the  age  of  ten ;  now  they  are  to  be  inducted  into 
writing  at  the  kindergarten  age  of  four,  though  the  period  of 
muscular  nascency  may  extend  to  the  age  of  seven.  Dr.  Mon- 
tessori herself  is  coming  to  the  conviction  "  that  it  is  not 
natural  for  children  under  six,  unless  they  are  overstimulated, 
either  to  read  or  write  continuously."  This  means  that  the 
hygienic  and  economic  reasons  for  teaching  reading  and  writ- 
ing two  or  three  years  before  they  can  be  jointly  used  with  a 
motive  in  the  natural  communication  and  interpretation  of 
thought  remain  to  be  established. 

There  seems  to  be  nothing  new  in  the  Montessori  method  of 
teaching  reading.  The  intelligent  primary  teacher  has  been 
using  games,  cards,  and  action  phrases  for  many  years.  In  fact, 
the  teaching  of  reading  is  not  such  a  serious  matter,  and  many 
children  in  America  effloresce  spontaneously  into  the  power  to 
read.  However,  it  is  still  a  question  when  the  technique  shall 


APPENDIX  331 

be  taught.  Shall  we  hurry  it  into  the  kindergarten  period  or 
shall  we  wait  until  the  child's  interests  and  activities  are  ripe 
for  such  expression  ?  Children  can  learn  to  read  at  three  or  at 
six.  In  the  former  case  reading  is  merely  a  technical  feat ;  in  the 
latter  it  is  a  complement  of  the  child's  more  mature  intellectual 
capacity. 

The  Montessori  method  of  teaching  penmanship  presupposes 
a  preliminary  course  in  sense  training.  The  method  is  clearly 
an  annex  to  the  system  of  sensorial  education,  and  does  not 
represent  the  more  naturalistic,  genetic  approach  to  the  writ- 
ing problem.  It  has  the  merits  of  admitting  play  and  inde- 
pendent effort,  but  it  is  in  spirit  alphabetic  and  logical  rather 
than  genetic. 

The  sequence  of  exercises  which  lead  to  writing  is  as  fol- 
lows :  1.  Tactile  discrimination  of  surfaces,  rough,  smooth,  etc. 
2.  Discrimination  of  weights.  3.  Tactile  exploration  of  out- 
lines of  geometric  forms,  square,  circle,  etc.  4.  Filling  in  of 
geometric  designs  limited  by  a  frame.  5.  Filling  in  of  same 
limited  by  pencil  marks.  6.  Sandpaper  alphabet  over  which 
the  pupil  moves  his  forefinger,  associating  the  phonetic  value 
of  the  letter  with  the  movement. 

According  to  this  sequence,  writing  does  not  make  organic 
connection  with  the  child's  instincts  of  drawing,  imitation,  and 
language.  The  writing  becomes  a  technique-game,  and  the 
emery-paper  letters  are  pedagogical  toys.  The  more  purely 
genetic  procedure  in  learning  to  write  places  more  reliance  on 
spontaneous  drawing  as  a  means  of  learning  to  control  both 
the  writing  instrument  and  the  basal  movements.  The  value 
of  such  spontaneous  drawing  seems  to  have  little  recognition 
in  the  Montessori  system.  Dr.  Montessori  substitutes  the 
rather  artificial  exercise  of  filling  in  geometric  designs. 

The  same  sudden  bursts  into  spontaneous  writing  shown  by 
Italian  children  cannot  be  expected  in  America,  since  our  lan- 
guage is  not  phonetic.  Even  some  of  the  Italian  children  do 
not  manifest  this  sudden  burst  into  writing,  and  need  the 
assistance  of  the  teacher  (II  metodo,  etc.,  p.  236).  American 


332  APPENDIX 

children  would  have  special  difficulties,  because  writing  tech- 
nique and  spelling  are  unfortunately  two  very  distinct  things, 
whereas  in  Italy  one  is  equivalent  to  the  other,  and  calligraphy 
is  orthography.  To  construct  a  simple  illustration,  an  Ameri- 
can child  and  an  Italian  child  wish  to  write  the  sentence,  "  I 
would  like  to  buy  my  rye  bread  to-night."  The  Montessori 
pupil,  having  learned  his  letters,  simply  has  to  think  the  sound 
of  the  sentence,  and  it  writes  itself.  This  is  the  spontaneous 
burst  into  writing.  In  his  vernacular  he  spells  lo  vorrei  comprare 
stasera  il  mio  pane  di  segale.  The  American  child,  on  the  con- 
trary, even  though  he  has  learned  his  letters  and  can  recog- 
nize them  blindfold,  would  meet  difficulties  which  might  delay 
the  explosion,  as  ul  in  would,  the  e  in  like,  the  u  in  buy,  the  e 
in  rye,  the  a  in  bread,  and  the  gh  in  night.  The  phonograms 
ike  and  ight,  to  be  sure,  may  be  taught  .by  the  sandpaper,  but 
this  destroys  the  simplicity  of  the  method,  and  after  all  there 
is  no  need  of  teaching  the  American  primary  child  as  though 
he  were  blind ;  the  visual  image  of  the  whole  word  is  so  much 
more  natural.  The  word  method  of  teaching  writing  is  quite 
feasible,  and  when  it  is  preceded  by  drawing  and  rhythmic 
picture  writing,  the  acquisition  of  penmanship  in  our  country 
may  be  a  hygienic,  joyous  task. 

The  muscles  are  the  machinery  by  which  man  projects  his 
ideas,  and  their  training  should  from  the  beginning  be  the 
result  of  the  execution  of  ideas.  For  instance,  to  write,  a  child 
must  learn  to  control  his  pencil.  How  shall  he  do  it  ?  Not  by 
setting  mechanical  limitations  for  himself,  as  the  filling  in  of 
outlines  of  various  geometric  forms,  but  by  utilizing,  in  bold 
freehand  drawing,  his  instinctive  and  creative  desire  for  repre- 
sentation,— by  projecting  on  the  blackboard  a  representation 
of  rhythmic  ideas  which  direct  and  inhibit  muscular  action  in 
the  very  process  of  representation ;  in  other  words,  he  should 
achieve  muscular  control  by  the  expression  of  native  ideas 
rather  than  by  fixing  limitations  from  without. 


APPENDIX  333 

V.  THE  SENSORIAL  APPARATUS 

The  autosensorial  scheme  of  education  bears  the  marks  of 
its  origin,  that  is,  the  laboratory  material  for  the  experimental 
psychology  of  the  senses  and  the  methods  used  in  training  the 
perception  of  defectives,  —  the  blind,  deaf,  dumb,  and  feeble- 
minded. It  comprises  an  impressive  array  of  sense  material 
designed  to  bring  into  the  consciousness  of  childhood,  not 
things,  but  the  qualities  of  things,  that  is,  hundreds  of  grad- 
uated colors,  sounds,  sizes,  shapes,  lengths,  widths,  tempera- 
tures, etc.  It  is  not  a  scheme  of  object  teaching ;  the  separate 
qualities  of  objects  are  didactically  isolated  from  the  objects, 
for  technical  discrimination  and  attention.  This  method  has 
worked  in  the  training  of  sense  defectives. 

A  word  of  caution  is  in  order  with  respect  to  the  general 
tendency  to  take  over,  without  criticism,  the  findings  from 
experience  with  subnormal  children,  and  to  transfer  them  to 
the  normal  child.  Especially  is  this  true  of  the  learning  proc- 
ess, where  it  would  be  much  safer  to  get  our  suggestions  for 
the  education  of  normal  children  from  the  learning  processes 
of  genius,  or  of  the  supernormal,  for  normal  children  tend  to 
learn  like  geniuses  rather  than  like  idiots.  They  divine  truth ; 
they  make  short  cuts ;  they  work  with  wholes  and  as  whole 
beings,  not  with  isolated  aspects  ;  they  imbibe  and  assimilate ; 
their  reactions  to  nature  are  not  analytic-synthetic. 

The  fact  that  methods  of  sensorial  training  have  proved  useful 
with  sense  defectives  and  those  mentally  deficient  must  there- 
fore be  used  with  due  caution.  In  our  country  a  well-considered 
system  of  sensorial  education  has  been  in  use  and  development 
for  some  twenty  years  in  The  Massachusetts  State  School  for  the 
Feeble-Minded,  where  the  great  Seguin  himself  taught  for  a  short 
time.  Dr.  Walter  E.  Fernald,  superintendent  of  this  institution, 
has  been  especially  successful  in  the  training  of  the  lower  grades 
of  f  eeble-mindedness.  He  emphasizes  that  success  depends  upon 
carefully  following  a  progressive,  predetermined  sequence,  be- 
ginning with  the  simplest  exercises^  such  as  picking  paper  from 


334  APPENDIX 

the  floor.  While  the  sense  material  is  simple,  it  is  very  impor- 
tant that  the  training  be  conducted  "in  the  most  painstaking, 
conscientious,  and  thorough  manner  by  a  teacher"  who  has 
herself  been  trained  in  the  method  and  meaning  of  the  work. 

The  principle  underlying  the  work,  especially  as  applied  to  the 
training  of  the  feeble-minded,  is  stated  by  Dr.  Fernald  as  follows : 
"  The  physiological  exercise  and  education  of  the  special  senses, 
and  the  training  of  the  voluntary  muscles  to  directed  accurate  re- 
sponse, must  precede  and  prepare  the  way  for  so-called  intellec- 
tual training.  The  intelligent  use  of  the  special  senses  is  the  basis 
of  all  knowledge.  The  inactive  special  senses,  the  obstructed 
avenues  of  approach  to  the  central  intelligence,  must  be  opened 
up  by  a  series  of  carefully  arranged  sensorial  gymnastics." 

That  feeble  minds  are  ever  made  normal  or  nearly  normal  by 
such  methods  is  a  sheer  impossibility.  While  admitting  that 
normal  children  have  "a  sense  hunger"  which  the  average 
schoolroom  poorly  meets,  it  may  well  be  questioned  whether  we 
should  therefore  resort,  in  our  common  schools,  to  a  refinement 
of  the  sense  material  and  the  didactic  methods  employed  with 
the  feeble-minded.  Dr.  Fernald  himself  recognizes  that  in  nor- 
mal infancy  and  childhood  "the  extraordinary  activity  of  the 
special  senses,  and  an  innate  spontaneity  of  action,  enable  the 
child  to  rapidly  acquire  a  wide  experience.  His  acute  powers 
of  attention,  observation,  and  perception,  impelling  him  to 
closest  scrutiny  and  investigation  of  each  new  thing,  and  his 
countless  experiments  in  physics,  all  of  which  we  call  play, 
are  the  means  adopted  by  nature  to  exercise  and  develop  the 
faculties.  .  .  .  This  control  of  the  body  and  its  functions,  and 
familiarity  with  the  simple  properties  of  matter  and  force, 
which  a  normal  child  seems  to  acquire  almost  intuitively,  can 
be  gained  by  these  (feeble-minded)  children  only  after  a  long- 
continued  process  of  training." 

There  is  one  fallacy  about  this  matter  which  deserves  clearer 
recognition.  Many  of  the  possible  results  from  "  sense  training" 
are  not  due  at  all  to  the  development  of  sense  susceptibility 
or  sensory  capacity.  The  beneficial  part  of  the  training  is 


APPENDIX  335 

motor,  due  to  the  motor  adaptations  of  attention,  observation, 
discrimination,  and  delicate  handling.  This  so-called  sense 
training  is  valuable  for  the  feeble-minded,  not  because  it  is  sense 
training,  but  because  it  is  motor  training*  The  sense  material 
conveniently  furnishes  the  simple,  isolated  stimuli  to  which  the 
feeble  mind  may  be  made  to  attend,  but  the  attention  is  pri- 
marily a  motor  process  of  handling,  touching,  listening,  lifting, 
pressing,  coordinating  eye  movements  and  hand  movements, 
etc.  Even  in  tasting  and  smelling,  muscles  play  a  part.  Percep- ; 
tion  is  not  a  receptive  but  an  active  motor  process ;  the  motor 
neurons,  or  at  least  efferent  impulses,  are  always  involved. 

It  is  the  motor  element  of  response  to  simple  serial  situa- 
tions which  makes  "  sensorial "  training  beneficial  to  inferior 
minds,  but  with  normal  children  these  organizing,  educative 
motor  reactions  grow  out  of  natural  contact  with  real  objects, 
and  this  motor  response  is  best  furthered,  not  by  imposing 
external  restrictions  in  directive  sensorial  stimuli,  but  by  mak- 
ing use  of  the  internal  motives  which  grow  out  of  natural  curi- 
osity and  workmanship,  the  instincts  of  play  and  work.  Instead 
of  taking  recourse  to  didactic  sensorial  apparatus,  let  us,  even 
in  the  tenement  districts,  hold  to  our  faith  in  nature,  elemen- 
tary science,  and  handwork. 

One  of  the  threatening  evils  of  education  is  oversophistica- 
tion.  It  is  so  easy  to  philosophize  and  to  become  mysteriously 
didactic,  to  surround  the  everyday  natural  interests  and  charac- 
teristics of  childhood  with  impenetrable  psychological  analysis. 
The  great  teachers  of  the  world  are  those  who  have  met  youth 
and  childhood  in  simple,  natural,  personal  contact,  —  who  have 
brought  education  into  naive  relations  with  nature.  Our  school 
system  does  not  need  devices,  technical  apparatus,  graduated 
and  systematized  processes.  No  such  order  and  progression 
exist  in  the  child's  learning  process.  He  is  equipped  with 
delicate  perception  and  endowed  with  instinctive  self-activity 
which  enables  him  to  discover  and  assimilate  a  multitude  of 
tactile,  motor,  and  visual  impressions  in  the  daily  round  of  his 
natural  experiences. 


336  APPENDIX 

It  is  disastrous  to  admit  that  it  is  impossible  for  babies  of 
two,  three,  and  four  to  find  a  stimulating  environment  in  the 
home,  and  that  the  mothers  of  the  country  shall  transfer  to 
the  schools  the  function  of  educating  these  little  children  in 
sense  perception.  The  majority  of  children  find  ample  oppor- 
tunity in  their  daily  domestic  excursions  to  handle  various 
forms,  to  touch  hard,  soft,  smooth,  elastic  surfaces.  The  baby 
crawling  on  the  floor  begins  to  run  his  fingers  over  the  carpet, 
the  furniture,  the  windowpane,  the  soft  dress  his  mother 
wears,  her  hair,  etc.  He  plays  by  the  hour  with  this  thing  and 
that,  unconsciously  assimilating,  sifting,  enjoying,  and  compar- 
ing a  multitude  of  impressions,  very  many  of  which  cannot  be 
incorporated  even  into  the  most  elaborate  sensorial  apparatus. 
Why  take  such  natural  experience  and  reduce  it  to  a  series  of 
graduated,  self-conscious  impressions,  bringing  into  the  class- 
room a  lot  of  unnecessary  paraphernalia  ?  The  modern  kinder- 
gartners  find  themselves  hampered  by  similar  static  material, 
and  many  of  them  are  discarding  it  for  more  easy,  natural 
contact  with  useful,  commonplace  material.  It  is  again  the 
question  of  the  logical  versus  the  genetic  order  in  education. 
We  have,  after  a  long  struggle,  dragged  the  schoolmaster's 
mind  away  from  the  logical,  alphabetic,  serial  method  of 
educating  little  children.  Kindergarten  and  primary  school 
alike  need  practical  contact  with  life,  science,  and  manual 
work.  We  must  make  use  of  the  bountiful  experiences  and 
phenomena  of  everyday  life  and  not  construct  an  artificial 
series  of  boxed  experiences  increasing  in  refinement  and  mak- 
ing no  useful  whole,  —  no  familiar  object  about  which  the 
child  should  be  informed. 

It  cannot  very  well  be  argued  that  such  sense  training  is 
to  be  only  supplementary  to  natural  contact  with  life,  for,  in 
America  at  least,  the  danger  is  that  it  will  become  a  substi- 
tute, not  a  supplement.  In  the  Italian  Casa  del  Bambini  the 
children  spend  an  eight-hour  day. 

Nor  can  it  be  argued  with  conclusiveness  that  this  spe- 
cial sense  training  will  increase  the  general  susceptibility 


APPENDIX  337 

and  keenness  of  the  child's  perception  of  nature.  In  fact,  the 
experimental  studies  on  this  very  point  (by  Thorndike  and 
Woodworth)  in  American  laboratories  show  that  there  is  no 
"mysterious  transfer  of  practice,"  —  that  the  influence  of  im- 
provement in  one  mental  function  upon  the  efficiency  of  other 
functions  is  very  small ;  for  instance,  training  in  the  estima- 
tion of  magnitudes  and  weights  had  little  influence  on  the 
ability 'in  the  estimation  of  magnitudes  and  weights  of  the  I 
same  general  sort. 

Moreover,  the  moment  that  one  insists  upon  elaborate  didac-  \/ 
tic  material,  the  natural  relation  of  the  child  to  life  is  in  danger.  /^ 
Especially  in  the  hands  of  inexperienced  teachers  this  gradu- 
ated sense  training  will  become  sophisticated,  both  for  the 
teacher  and  for  the  child,  and  will  inject  an  analytical,  sophis- 
ticated self-consciousness  into  his  otherwise  naive  relations  to 
the  colors  and  shapes  of  nature,  —  to  the  rainbow,  to  crystals, 
and  to  the  spectral  hues  on  his  soap  bubble. 

These  strictures  do  not  apply  with  equal  force  to  the  arith- 
metical didactic  material,  for  here  emotion  and  the  natural  unity 
of  things  do  not  count  for  so  much,  and  quantitative  analytic 
attitudes  are  appropriate.  The  Montessori  arithmetical  appa- 
ratus has  many  excellent  uses. 

.But  in  other  departments  of  life  it  is  the  appreciation  of 
things  which  counts,  and  not  the  knowledge  of  their  abstract 
qualities.  Assimilation  must  take  place  as  an  accompaniment 
of  a  psychic  experience.  The  child  develops  in  the  afterglow 
of  feeling  and  understanding  which  follow  contact  with  real 
objects  in  their  natural  relation  to  life.  A  knowledge  of  the 
chromatic  musical  scale,  or  a  quick  recognition  of  shades  and 
tints,  is  not  the  starting  point  of  artistic  creation,  but  a  final 
result  of  the  needs  of  execution. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  one  can  teach  a  little  child  almost 
anything,  but  he  is  standing  on  the  threshold  of  life.  Life  calls 
to  him  to  come  to  investigate,  to  inquire,  to  live.  Let  us,  then, 
open  the  way  for  an  easy,  natural  contact  with  live  things,  and 
not  use  up  his  vibrant  energy  upon  artificial  experiences. 


338  APPENDIX 

VI.    THE   TEACHEK'S  PART 

There  is,  at  the  present  writing,  only  one  person  in  this 
country  who  has  been  trained  by  Dr.  Montessori  in  the  prac- 
tice and  principles  of  her  method.  In  spite  of  this,  factory 
machinery  is  being  set  up  for  the  wholesale  production  of  her 
didactic  materials.  This  raises  some  questions  about  the  rela- 
tion of  the  teacher  to  the  material  and  the  method.  When  the 
Montessori  system  was  first  commercially  introduced  to  the 
American  public,  we  were  told  that  any  parent  or.  teacher  who 
had  a  little  leisure  to  read  the  accompanying  handbook  might 
place  the  didactic  apparatus  in  the  hands  of  the  children,  who 
would  play  themselves  into  knowledge. 

Dr.  Montessori  has  been  called  an  educational  wonder-worker, 
but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  magic  power  does  not  reside  in  the 
didactic  material.  Her  philosophy  is  the  liberty  of  self-activity 
in  the  pupils ;  her  method,  that  of  "  autosensorial  education." 
It  is  autoeducation,  but  it  is  not  automatic.  If  it  succeeds,  it 
will  succeed  only  in  the  hands  of  the  most  skillful  and  under- 
standing teachers.  Dr.  Theodate  L.  Smith,  who  saw  the  schools 
at  Rome,  declares,  "  There  is  no  system  that  requires  a  more 
careful  training  of  its  teachers." 

Dr.  Montessori  herself  leaves  no  doubt  on  this  matter,  in 
her  chapter,  "How  the  Teacher  should  Teach"  (II  metodo,  etc., 
pp.  79-87).  It  is  her  wish  that  "the  educator  should  be  im- 
bued with  a  profound  worship  of  life,"  and  should  regard  the 
child  as  a  growing  organism.  The  teacher  must  have  a  percep- 
tion for  nascent  stages  and,  while  respecting  the  individuality 
of  the  child,  must  direct  his  development,  as  one  trains  the 
vine,  without  pruning  or  thwarting  it.  In  fact,  Dr.  Montessori 
has  chosen  the  word  "  directress  "  to  replace  the  word  "  teacher," 
which  implies  too  much  instructing  intervention.  The  direc- 
tress, then,  must  restrain  all  corrective  and  "  teachy"  meas- 
ures, in  order  quietly  and  tactfully  to  direct.  Such  directing 
requires  not  only  scientific  curiosity  and  sagacity  but  scientific 
patience. 


APPENDIX  339 

A  class  of  about  twenty-five  can  be  directed  by  one  Mon- 
tessori  teacher  and  an  assistant.  Larger  numbers  make  the 
principle  of  self-activity  difficult  of  application.  This  has  proved 
so  true  of  our  large  American  —  and  Italian  —  kindergartens, 
that  Miss  Stevens,  writing  from  Rome,  makes  this  contrast  be- 
tween "Froebel's"  system  and  Montessori's :  "Froebel's  teachers 
are  in  front  of  their  children,  leading  them,  directing  them ; 
Montessori's  are  behind  theirs,  watching  them,  quietly  remov- 
ing all  obstacles  to  their  development,  silently  placing  within 
their  reach  all  helps  to  their  progress,  but  leaving  the  initiative 
entirely  to  the  children." 

In  the  Montessori  kindergarten  it  therefore  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  no  two  children  are  engaged  in  the  same  occupation. 
It  may  also  happen  that  a  child  will  spend  the  whole  two 
hours  of  the  school  period  in  doing  one  thing,  for  Dr.  Mon- 
tessori wisely  holds  that  a  child  should  not  be  interrupted 
in  wholesome  activity.  This,  however,  brings  about  a  danger 
of  overstimulation,  and  the  directress  must  be  not  only  an  ex- 
pert disciplinarian  (in  the  best  sense)  but  a  discerning  guardian 
of  the  hygienic  requirements  of  the  child's  development.  The 
teacher's  part  is  to  discern,  to  direct,  to  regulate. 

This  is  a  somewhat  passive  part,  but  it  requires  superior 
skill.  Says  Dr.  Montessori:  "  When  she  [a  prospective  teacher] 
begins  to  find  it  her  duty  to  discern  which  acts  of  the  child 
she  ought  to  hinder  and  which  she  ought  to  observe,  then 
the  teacher  of  the  old  school  feels  a  great  lack  in  herself,  and 
begins  to  ask  if  she  will  not  be  quite  inadequate  to  her  task." 
"  The  fundamental  guide  in  the  lessons  is  the  method  of 
observation,  which  is  included  in  the  principle  of  child  liberty." 
"  Our  intention  is  to  give  a  ray  of  light  and  then  pass  on  to 
something  else."  "  In  fact,  when  the  child  educates  himself, 
and  the  control  and  correction  of  his  errors  is  left  to  the 
teaching  material,  it  remains  to  the  teacher  only  to  observe. 
She  must  be  more  of  a  psychologist  than  a  teacher,  and 
here  is  proved  the  importance  of  the  scientific  preparation 
of  teachers." 


340  APPENDIX 

In  the  education  of  young  children  the  teacher  will  always 
be  of  more  importance  than  the  method  or  the  material.  Miss 
Tozier  describes  the  wonderful  educational  results  achieved  by 
Signora  Galli-Succenti,  a  Montessori  directress,  in  the  worst 
slum  of  Rome,  —  results  which  in  this  case  were  proved  to 
be  independent  of  any  didactic  material,  for  the  local  school 
board  was  dilatory  in  providing  the  apparatus.  "  In  teaching 
these  children  of  St.  Angelo  in  Pescheria,  neither  reading  nor 
writing  nor  the  use  of  the  materials  was  the  main  aim  or  desire 
of  Signora  Galli  and  her  assistant.  Had  these  inferior  ambi- 
tions been  allowed  to  influence  the  work  in  the  school,  there 
would  have  been  little  accomplished  in  the  long  months  of 
waiting  for  the  didactic  toys,  —  months  that  proved  so  valu- 
able in  the  real  education  of  the  poor  children." 

Some  of  the  finest  things  which  we  have  found  in  Dr.  Mon- 
tessori's  views  are  her  ringing  statements  of  the  function  of 
the  teacher.  She  believes  that  "  the  figure  of  the  old  school- 
mistress, who  labors  to  preserve  the  discipline  of  immobility, 
and  wears  out  her  lungs  in  a  shrill  and  continuous  flow  of  talk," 
must  disappear.  She  believes  it  to  be  nothing  less  than  a  sacred 
duty  for  the  teacher  to  preserve  only  the  discipline  through 
liberty,  —  "  the  liberty  of  the  child  in  his  free,  spontaneous 
manifestations."  Her  new  emphasis  of  this  old  principle  will 
be  a  service  to  the  race. 

But  the  fulfillment  of  this  principle  in  our  country  needs 
skillful  personalities  more  than  it  needs  didactic  apparatus. 
Apparatus  without  trained  personality  in  "  the  directress  "  will 
be  insidiously  dangerous. 


INDEX 


Adenoids,  278,  283 

Adolescence,  310 

Amoeba,  31,  108 

Animal    intelligence,    50,    55,   62, 

88 

Appreciation  of  things,  117 
Aryan  peoples,  58 

Bibliography,  315 
Busy-work,  229 

Cerebral  cortex,  37,  43,  107,  282 
Child  depravity,  doctrine  of,  3 
Child-hygiene  movement,  26 
Child  study,  history  of,  21 
Crying,  79 

Dancing,  242 
Darwin,  17,  22 
Dementia  prcecox,  291 
Dickens,  5 
Discipline,  148,  248 
Dramatic  expression,  144 
Drawing,  125 

Epaminondas,  299 
Evolution,  30 
Eyes,  280 

Feeble-mindedness,  290 
Froebel,  21,  129 

Habit,  50,  55,  74 
Hall,  G.  Stanley,  20 
Handwork,  181 


Hearing,  116 
Home  education,  264 
Huinanitarianism,  3 
Humor,  130,  254,  296 

Idiot  hand,  99 
Imitation,  72 
Instinct,  55,  60,  61 

Keller,  Helen,  113,  120 

Language,  147,  172 

Laughter,  71 

Left-handedness,  92,  97 

Literature,  187 

Logical  versus  genetic  method,  128 

Mesozoic  period,  47 

Mood,    208,    245,    292,    305,    308, 

312 

Morality,  252,  302,  309 
Morning  exercises,  243 
Mother  Goose,  189,  200,  212 
Movement  and  intelligence,  88 
Mutual  aid,  69 

Nail  biting,  104 
Nature  study,  223 
Neolithic  man,  57 
Neurology,  history  of,  12,  15 
Neuromuscular  system,  87 
Neurons,  33,  40,  282 


Obstinacy,  80 
Open  air,  285 


341 


342 


INDEX 


Paleolithic  man,  54 
Paleozoic  period,  46 
Paper  cutting,  139 
Parental  instincts,  67 
Perception,  100,  117 
Pestalozzi,  4,  118,  257 
Peter,  50 
Phonics,  159 

Pithecanthropus  erectus,  48 
Play,  70,  158,  237,  312 
Posture,  281 
Puppet  play,  155 

Reading,  194 
Reading  to  children,  201 
Relaxation,  76,  83,  286 
Rhythm,  208,  212 
Right-handedness,  65,  91,  95 

Seeing,  116 
Self-preservation,  64 
Sex  education,  227,  314 
Shaftesbury,  5 
Sleep,  76 


Smell,  115 
Social  instincts,  68 
Speech,  96,  159 
Speech  defects,  164 
Spelling,  218,  232,  234 
Story-telling,  138,  191 
Study,  235 

Taste,  115 
Teeth,  273 

Tertiary  period,  47,  53 
Thumb,  94,  104 
Touch,  100 
Tropisms,  64 

Verbalism,  119 
Vesalius,  10 

Walt  Whitman,  123 

Wild  traits  in  tame   animals, 

63 

Work,  81,  235,  312 
Workmanship,  60,  73,  75,  182 
Writing,  203 


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